


Injustice, Unhappiness & the Evasion of Incarceration

by RAW_SYNTH3TICA



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Accidental Plot, Anal Sex, Bigotry, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Bondage, Cannibalism, Dark Humor, Disturbing Themes, Drug Dealing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemas, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Torture, Handcuffs, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Tried, Ideally Sensitive, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Male Slash, Michael+Trevor if you squint, Non-Consensual, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, One Shot, One-Sided Relationship, Oral Sex, Pre-Game(s), Prison, Prostitution, Religion, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sensuality, Substance Abuse, Toilet humor, Violence, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 03:26:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1413307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAW_SYNTH3TICA/pseuds/RAW_SYNTH3TICA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1987, Running from the law & not doing time finally catches up with Trevor & Michael, they end up in Quincy State Correctional.<br/>The shit they do, the shit they see, the shit that happens…it makes no difference to anybody on the inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Injustice, Unhappiness & the Evasion of Incarceration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TrevorPhilipsismySpiritAnimal (lazysatyr)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazysatyr/gifts).



> ALL IS FICTIONAL & NOT MINE. 
> 
> it's 2:00 a.m. & i'm proud that this is the longest oneshot i've ever written  
> ~enjoy!

Michael knew the job was dangerous and there was going to be hell afterwards if things did not go as planned, and he was right - it got them five years - it was the most embarrassing kind of fuck up there ever could be: they got a tipped off by ‘anonymous sources’ from their Carcer City job. The best part: they had two (hopefully unoccupied) beds waiting for them in the worse part of Quincy State Correctional Facility, and Michael was shitting himself while Trevor slouched into the seat having a grand old time picking his lock in less than six moves and doing sleight of hand saying to himself, “See, Mike? Y’see me now - now you don’t, eh - y’see me…” 

“We’re dead, kid,” Michael looked across Trevor at the blacked out window, the bars all the more daunting a prelude to their trip to QSCF, he thought of Amanda and her pregnancy with Twins of all the most unneeded pressures in his life, “Dead. Dead like the ten-thousand presidents we got pinched for.” 

“Lemme tell you something about your cynicsm, Mikey, eh?” Trevor looked to his mentor, and shit-oh-shit did the boy turn nearly every head their way when he looked up at Michael beneath his thick eyebrows and slicked back overgrown crew cut, (his thick Canadian accent really sealed the deal of making him the cellblock cum-dump) his voice just finally grown into full rich deepness, “It’ll get us killed, and I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to like where the good lord put my skin and I’d want to keep it that way, eh.” 

“Your face? Be thankful it ain’t getting stripped Elsewhere,” Michael brushed a hand through the short dark hairs on his sweaty neck, he swore his sweat smelled like a bag of warm hamburger meals. 

“Bah! Fuck my face! I meant my ass. Comprendo amigo?” Trevor nearly jumped up from his seat, he clicked the cuffs back on and tied a string on the wire, he swallowed the wire enough that it was invisible and he could tug it out by the string when the time came, Michael was always surprised at how Grown the kid seemed to sound along with the hardness in his big hazel eyes, “The ole turd-cutter doesn’t Need any cops or cons busting in like they’ve caught the Yankton-Strangler. Yea, you heard right, eh, it’s back-end nugatory-territory.” 

“Sticking to your alibi this time, huh?” Michael looked down at his young colleague, (thanking his lucky stars that he never got anyone pregnant at a young age, because he would otherwise have been raising a pair of little pricks the same age as Trevor) he remembered the first time Trevor said the same things the year before about refraining from ‘bodily impulse’, “You’re really hard-up on this whole ‘born again virgin’-hype, ain’t ya, kid? How long ago was it you took and broke those particular vows the same day you made them, for your hockey coach no less?” 

“Okay, that was…twice. There comes a time in every young man’s life when he is faced with the Man Upstairs and a fucking five-year sentence in the most degenerate hole available without having first hand the sweet bliss of ‘recreational experimentation’, quite a stretch, eh?” Trevor was staring straight into Michael’s face, his nose wriggling in the slightest from the crazy itch there was to growing facial hair, “Especially the temptations of the tits, tush and twat. It was the hockey stick or my prick, and there was Technically no bodily goings-on where my cock was concerned. It was Purely consensual.” 

“Bullshit,” Michael grumbled as he turned away first, he knew that stare would be the death of him if he looked too long, “Alright, you’re not kidding.” 

“Sure as shit,” Trevor lilted, his head leaning again towards his older colleague, “Eh, sugar-tits?”

“Shut the fuck up, that ain’t funny, little dude,” Michael bumped his shoulder to Trevor whom only broke out into a slightly buck-toothed grin. 

“Oh, pork-chop’s got a bite, and I know exactly where that shit flies, Mike,” Trevor pointed to a man in uniform at the very head of their sputtering tin-can, there with a gun in hand stood an officer behind a shielded metal mesh cage with the driver, the pale blue eyes kept darting to the pair and back to the only window available within vision, “Eh, sugar-tits?” 

“I’m gonna fucking defile you before our sentence is up if you keep talking enough shit to get even Brad jealous,” Michael chuckled to his partner in crime. 

“You and these pencil-dick fuck-heads best grow yourself a metal cock ‘cause if it takes swallowing razors, glass, pins and needles to shred some ill-advised bastard’s cock-” Trevor only gave a smug sneer as he illustrated his point by opening his mouth wide and biting down hard enough to make his teeth click loudly, and scaring the other inmates’ eyes off him, “-by fucking Balls, this’ll be fun, eh.” 

The state of Quincy was just east of North Yankton, snuggled perfectly against the Canadian border, even then Michael had to comment among other things about seeing his damp breath in the noontime ‘sunny’ day, “It’s cold as a witch’s tit in this fucking eighteen-wheeled rat-trap! Motherfuck!” 

“Can I enjoy my first incarceration in peace, Mike?” Trevor had a fingernail inside the chain links and tinkered with the metal, and just before Michael could face the fact that his younger colleage was much more cool at going to prison than him, the boy slammed his feet on the floor and growled, “I’m gonna lose my fucking mind if we’re not there in the Fucking prison in the next Fucking hour before I can’t feel my Fucking Face!” 

Out from the front came an officer (every man within sights had their cocks pointed his direction and maybe harbored a barely-concealed man-crush) he looked like he stepped straight out of the pages of a top-shelf magazine with his pale blue eyes and fuck-me-lips, it was only then the guy stepped before Michael and Trevor’s seat, “Is there a problem, son?” 

“Yes, there is-” Trevor read off the tag stitched on the officer’s chest, “-Nor-ton. Are you delivering us frozen and compliant to the fucking criminal melting-pot, eh?” 

“Ease down, boy-” the officer known as Norton cocked the pump action shotgun, not to alarm anyone just so that his ‘you’re just another paycheck and justifiable murder’ stance was taken more seriously than Trevor lead on by blowing a loud raspberry with his lips, “We’re just about there.” 

Trevor nearly stood to full one-hundred-fifty-centimeters in height until Michael put a firm hand on his shoulder, which Trevor heeded but shook off agitatedly, he instead resorted to sneering, “Hey, Mr. Piggy, I hope you’re at the very fuckin finish line ready and waiting to give me a full-body rub.” 

“Huh, good kid-” Norton huffed, hearing the retorts of similar wording but always by someone Way older than the kid flashing him a set of white teeth, he looked to Michael whom was obviously trying to keep Trevor under his thumb and having trouble processing his request, “-keep him out of trouble and maybe, just Maybe, you two will walk out of here alive.” 

“And we hold it to you, Norton,” Michael nodded unquestioningly. 

“Was that a threat, bacon-bits?” Trevor again stood up but not enough that he Was considered a viable asset or instrument to obstruct ‘justice’, he had that gleam which made him see red and made his muscles jump like he was ready to get into a penalty-box brawl, “Because I might be young, but I’ve got a quarterback ready to throw his shit into the grinder and stuff you like a nice holiday ham. Bow, blood and all.” 

“Whoa, whoa, we’re off on the wrong foot, officer-” Michael squeezed Trevor’s shoulder harder because he was ready to break from his grip, he laughed nonchalantly as Trevor again settled upon the seat, “Kids these days, them and their shitty neon print and generic rock music. He’s just missing his momma, right?” 

“No, boy,” Norton leaned down into the two’s breathing space, he tapped the gun and squeezed the safe-locked trigger, “A good-hearted warning. The men you’ve got yourself in with - they’re the threats, and nobody pushes too kindly on potty-mouthed baby-faces with your Northern ‘charms’.” 

“If my mother didn’t tell me to be a good boy and play nice with you fucking pigs - Ohh!- Fuck!” Trevor growled, the sound coming from deep inside his stomach as he bit his tongue to the memory of his mother waggling a finger at him after dropping him off at the police station, he fisted his cuff’s chain links, “You would have gotten some Real nasty shit to deal with, officer Norton.” 

Norton stood up to full height while the bus gradually pulled to a stop and awaited clearance at the gates, he nodded to the young soon-to-be inmate, “So we’ve come to an agreement, boy?” 

“Crystal-” Trevor held up the OK sign with his fingers, but rotated his wrist until he was making a motion of smoking a bowl, “-Meth.” 

“Keep your boy on a leash, pal, there’re enough Cold War bastards preaching equal rights, freedom, hate for the weaker sex and communism in the same handbook,” Norton paced back to the front to escort the new crop to the grinding pit, he shot an unaffected last look at both Michael and Trevor, adding a humorless wink, “Exactly like You pair of daisies doing the american Justice System proud by burning the star-spangled-banner and the proud history with it. But who isn’t?” 

“And we’ll do just fine walking the Fair, corruption-free legal tightrope in hell? Fan-fucking-tastic!” Michael shouted to the retreating officer as they began to file out of the bus, he said upon meeting Norton at the reinforced door at the bottom of the bus’s aluminum stairs, “It’s not like I had a family and life to live, right? What kind of fucking holiday camp’re you running here, bub?” 

“A reasonable one; a violence-free environment facilitating the rehabilitation for wayward criminals,” Norton shrugged, surprising the two in his non-domineering manner, he waved them with his shotgun towards an open metal door enclosing a concrete wall nearly eleven yards high tipped with razor wire and lookout towers stationing fully-armed officers, “Welcome to Quincy State, where everyone Like you stews until you can’t tell your ass from your mouth.” 

“And how does that happen? Eh, pig-sucker, does the warden give his officers a night-stick fucking, too?” Trevor looked back to the officer prodding them onwards, he smiled to Michael at his side, “Don’t you just feel the Love, Mike?” 

The men were paraded off the bus through a basemen-like lot beneath the prison, each given a number and taken through check-in by being unlocked of their cuffs and stripping down to their underwear, undershirt and socks; Michael shrugged out of his plaid flannel jacket and button up shirt, his jeans and snow boots last as he put them into a bag. He stood around until the others finished and felt himself being scoped out as a prospective ‘stress reliever’, he scooted himself closer to Trevor to block out any eyes behind them while the kid yanked off his denim jacket sporting the Lone Wolf Royal Canadian Air Force insignia on the back and sleeves, he kept his faded and torn green t-shirt on, he wiggled out of his canvas pants and hiking shoes as others looked on at his threadbare baby blue Derrière-brand panties and pale legs stuck into sagging knee-length socks. 

“Panties, T?” Michael glanced down when Trevor straightened up, he knew his worry would only get him a sneer in turn so he instead disregarded the rest of the leers aimed their way, “Last I heard was the bozos forcing kids like you into them sexy little numbers, making ‘em all the more appetizing like chronic bed-wetters on dry ice.” 

“It was either This or the tie-dye thongs my mother bought me. D’oh!” Trevor smacked his head in frustration and said, “Should have gone with thongs! Always classy, mother. Always classy.” 

“And I mistook you for a traditionalist,” Michael shuffled his feet on the cold concrete floor, his bones nearly jumping out of his feet in the frigid autumn air. 

“In a strange way, maybe I’m not,” Trevor folded his arms over his chest, making his hockey muscles stand out and wave hello to everyone looking. 

Michael heard a couple of sneers behind him, he grit his teeth hard thinking better that their positions in the caste would be decided away from the cops than having his ass thrown into solitary confinement on his first day, he shouted, “Hey, what’s the holdup, huh? We’re naked in below-freezing temperatures, could catch and worst a cold up in this frigid dump!” 

The line inched forward, by the time Michael was second in line, his feet had turned blue and gone numb, he approached the barred window with a small slot etched through, the officer sitting at the desk pulled out a fresh page with Michael’s information already stamped on top, maybe he was just bored or sarcastic, “Name?” 

“Michael Townley,” Michael answered, he shifted from one foot to the other in hopes of keeping his blood flowing and bones from fusing to his flesh, the officer took his bag of items and listed down on his log an inventory of possessions, watching as his wallet was emptied and dollars pocketed, he sneered cheerlessly, “Yeah, that’s nice - they pay you to screw the scheme, also?” 

“We’re just playing by Your rules, convict,” the officer stamped and sealed the files away and pulled up another set, he waved Michael aside and shouted, “Next!” 

Trevor strode up to the booth right behind Michael, his own belongings neatly folded and bagged, he handed his articles to the officer whom most definitely saw Trevor’s military service on the record, he was again hassling the Canadian since it was rare that they at Quincy State were utilized to entertain their cousins from up north. 

“Up here, fish,” the officer motioned to Trevor’s dogtags, Trevor took off his tags and dropped them into his underwear, unfazed and annoyed, the officer wiped a greasy hand through his sweaty head and inquired non-too entertained by the happenings, “Name?” 

“Uh, let’s see here… Yankton Strangler,” Trevor leaned into the window like he was letting the officer in on a secret, no sooner was he thrust up the wall and pinned like a moth on display against the bulletproof glass, he laughed wickedly all the while testing the touchy subject of a known *(still yet to be identified) serial killer, “Loosen up, fuckers, you’re not the ones’ fearing the death of chivalry! I’m in here for the next five years and I’m beginning to regret getting locked in by a bunch of assholes without a shred of humor, eh!” 

“What’s your fucking name, son?” the officer stood up and showed off a paunch which flopped over his belt and sweat stains in his armpits, Trevor whooped out breathless belly-laughs with his face pushed up to the window, a nightstick prodded his ribs and another against his lower ribcage, “C’mon, don’t make this scene bloody, boy.” 

“Eh! Eh! Get your fucking mitts off me, sweetie, or they’re comin off,” Trevor pushed the weapons away with his arms and squirmed around until he was growling into another officer’s face, “Tr-ev-or Phillips; look into the shorts and you’ll find something hard that Isn’t a flashlight.” 

“Get the fuck back in line, smart guy,” the officer roughly pushed Trevor into the outgoing line to the showers, his toiletries and customary jail-wear were thrown at him in parting, “Pull up those socks and no more cute shit.” 

“Sir, yea, sir!” Trevor gave a fake salute, he turned around bent over with his ass in the air and pulled up his socks, he marched off stiff-legged after Michael. 

“No talking in the showers!” a voice on the intercom boomed, as the inmates began trickling into the large concrete room where nothing but stainless steel spouts lined the walls, scrubbed tile covered the floor and sprinklers poked from the ceilings, Trevor set his paper bag down next to Michael and stuffed his thin t-shirt into the bag while leaving on all his other under articles. 

Michael only proceeded to plod naked up to an untaken shower spout next to his younger colleague, and again, he felt those stares on him, scanning over his body seeing if he was a threat or even able to take on maybe a dozen men in one go, his ass cheeks involuntarily squeezed shut as if to keep the eyes from seeing the homophobe he was inside, not saying he was Completely against doing anything and everything to come out of QSCF with most of his parts intact. He puffed out his barrel chest and straightened up his muscle-taut shoulders and back to give himself some much-needed bluster-build if not for the hard poker-face he was already sporting, a cold swath of disinfectant and pesticide powder hit his back, trickling down his ass to his thick legs, showerheads tentatively sputtered on tepid water one by one. Nothing helped the cold outside seeming to turn the entire room into a freezer, things could be worst. 

Trevor on the other hand, was spiking his hair into a mohawk, his head and arms keeping to a silent beat, he hummed some popular radio tune most likely confused between Metallum’s ‘Exit Boogeyman’ and another nameless song by the Crumbling Stones. Eyes squinting away water, he rubbed the powder into his skin and into his sunken mohawk, his body was defined yet lean, a few hairs dusting the center of his pecs and short dark hairs peppering his arms, legs and back, he looked only more mysterious with the blue panties clinging to his package and the dog tags’ weight making the panty sag down the center. Though decidedly straight they were, the inmates could barely help themselves from witnessing Trevor’s cock slowly give shape to the thin underwear, the outline clear and at the same time restrained. The pair rinsed quickly as Michael saw a shadow befall them, a strong hand slapped unto Trevor’s shoulder, roughly spinning him around to face the gang of five inmates whom shared the bus ride from North Yankton with Trevor and Michael. 

The ‘whatever’ posture loosely made by Trevor only pissed off Michael more, he had his own huge fists up, thick forearms flexing and cock swinging flaccid between his thighs, the voice in his throat died choked by anticipation and a lingering fear, Trevor suddenly cracked the guy in the brow with his forehead, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “I don’t give a shit about my fuckin police record!” 

“ ‘Cause you twirl me right ‘round, baby!” Trevor grabbed the next arm swinging over his head, he ducked under the arm he still held and pushed the bent arm with little resistance up between the sopped shoulder blades, the shoulder dislocated, his out-of-tune shout rang the chorus line, “Right the Fuck ‘round!” 

“And you make me feel…!” he slapped the ass before him, the crack of wet skin on naked skin resounded before he bent the body in half at the waist, he pushed his hard cock unto the other man’s scrotum, the inmate howled and bawled since his arm was still painfully held against his back and Trevor’s pushing only punctuated his bone grinding on the displaced tendons, “Oh! You make me feel - Like a choir Boy!” 

Trevor raised his arms as Michael threw a skull-shattering slug at a lunging inmate, he dodged a fist blowing past his left ear and whipped his fists in a left-right combination at the inmate, “Hey, Mikey, you so fast - You so fast you kiss much ass!” 

“Hey, ya pappy!” Trevor threw his knuckles into another’s kidney, the person doubled over and slipped unto the floor, he looked at the surrounding audience itching to join and eager to have a piece of the two new inmates, he smacked his chest with his flat palms through the chaos behind him, “Hey, ya mamma!” 

“You’re fucking Jammin at a time like This,T!” Michael threw a charging inmate to the nearest wall, they slipped to the floor and rolled unto his back to wrestle down an inmate, until Trevor threw off his shirt and slapped the wet article on the inmate, giving the man a stupidly-astonished glare speechless to the low IQ, Michael stood up, “Do you mind putting up your dukes and pulling your cock outta your hand for a moment!” 

“I’m your P-P-P-P-Petrol-Bomb!” Trevor waved his shirt in circles as the alarm blaring off the end of shower time, he wrung out his t-shirt on the bloodied inmates still littering the floor and groaning, he stepped atop a few bodies to get to his bag of toiletries, “Party on, assholes. Careful on the wet tile, its slippery.” 

Bruises formed on the pair, the worst darkening on Michael’s side and elbow, his fists swelling and having a heartbeat of their own also, he pulled a crude towel from his paper bag and laid out his clothing, Trevor took out a pillow case and reveled in the cotton cloth sopping moisture from his thick hair and body. Michael could hardly help himself from ruffling the dark brown hair, Trevor did a whole-body shake forcefully wringing himself of the clinging water beads, they dressed in silence, Michael pulled on his knee-high white socks, his issued jeans and denim long-sleeve button-up, the collar upturned as he pulled out his comb and ratted his bangs up high, and combed his hair perfectly straight from his scalp to flick the back into a ducktail. 

They were each given crappy leather boots which laced up from the snubbed brown nose to the long padded neck, Trevor dressed himself the exact same, save for tying his shirt around his waist and pulling his ‘MoonDog BatShit’ t-shirt back on, the two looked each other up and down before Trevor chuckled and slapped his knees, “You fucking antiquated cliché!” 

“You fucking innovative stereotype,” Michael shot back while again ruffling Trevor’s hair, he then rolled up his sleeves to the elbow, showing off a few bruises and colorful scars, his younger colleague was without a single cosmetic blemish, but on his side was to twist his face into ugly battle-masks of insane doom, masterfully enough that even his own commanding officers and psychiatrists were struck by the ‘Phillips-Fear’. 

They were herded into a room glaring puke-yellow walls and acrylic-painted dark seats, as if half-attempting to hide the gray with watered down shades of outside life; each man knew to their own of the lie and containing it inside the insufferably close walls and stale scent of piss-on-paint. Orientation was short, sweet, to the point and more or less put a smile on Trevor’s face, “Obey and survive. Get the fuck to lunch, you detestable shits.” 

Like ants pouring out of an angry hill, each man filed out of the room into another bare concrete tunnel, the sounds on the other side deafening, Michael looked to Trevor wondering if the kid was at all worried, but instead saw a gleam shining in his wide hazel eyes and an excited smile cleaving his wicked face in half. White-gray light showered the vast opening: six floors spread on either side made of concrete and lined by metal pipes, among those leaning over the railings were thugs ranging of all sizes, of all ethnicities grouped into their own little cliques, over a thousand inmates crowded into close living spaces proved nearly too much for those seeing the place for the first time, others were shouting greetings to their fraternity comrades. The two could have passed under the radar until Michael saw Trevor’s eyes holding each gaze sizing them up, committing visual sins of the flesh as they passed through behind a see-through wall of wire-fencing, Michael knew they should have appeared tougher by staring straight ahead and walking tall, but Trevor was innocently staring each more hardened inmate up like a boy in a candy store - moreover a boy who hit puberty in his first peepshow or his first titty-shop. 

“Lookee here, fellow Cracker-Barrels!” a tiny man squeaked from the top floor, every seeing inmate behind the wire fence eyed Trevor as he threw his bag over his shoulder and stopped before the group, Michael stopped at his side, blue eyes aimed the same direction up into some asshole’s direction, the man leaned over the rail and shouted to his men, “We got us a payload o’ white snow bunnies like a couple of Yankee-Doodles!” 

“Yo, lily-white princess!” another inmate shouted at Trevor, rotten teeth displayed at his attempt to smile like Prince-Charming, instead looking more like a toad with his hairless head, long mouth and sweaty belly unable to stay held beneath the one-size-fits-all shirt issued to him, he yelled to Trevor’s elbow nudging Michael in the rib, “The name’s Horse!” 

“Howdy, Horse!” Trevor grabbed unto the fence, pressing his face into the wire-grid as if his words were not enough to shock a boner unto the ‘toad’, he pulled off until the whole fence vibrated like an angry wave of disappointment, his hooted laughs infected the entire block, his tears stung as he pointed to the ‘toad’, “Hung like a castrated Gelding! Change your name, change your life, fuck-face!” 

“Hey, baby!” just down the block came a voice, Trevor stepped back stiff-legged from the hard lump formed inside his fitting denim jeans, a ways stood a muscled freak nearly two-and a half-yards tall, wrung entirely with muscle and tattoos, “Come up here and give daddy some head!” 

“Gladly,” Trevor licked his lips, savoring the cold sweeping his tongue, he pointed to the man, “I’ll remember you, apple-cheeks! Just you wait!” 

“ ‘Born-again virgin’-my ass, Trevor,” Michael pulled his colleague away from the fencing, shuffling along awkwardly through the walkway to their destination where they were being frantically waved through by a young officer in uniform, he breathed so that no one would hear their conversation, “Fuck the entire prison system, why don’t you?” 

“That was the plan. Light flirting is a penitentiary requirement, cowboy,” Trevor shuffled into the room, taking note of the various doors throughout and the open door at the very end, “Fuck, I’m starving! Do we scavenge for rats and roaches, some damned or other shit?” 

They were given tin trays and plastic juice containers once arriving at their destination, the ungodly things being served seemed to be of no taste, nutritional content but only enough to keep them full, the short line for incoming inmates was nowhere near overwhelming as what they all had just seen outside the metal door, and the last thing they all expected were the servers: nuns in full garb and aprons, officers guarding them behind the same glass-and-mesh walls save for the long buffet-style serving range, more grey and concrete enclosing the vast mess-hall cutoff all escape and hope for scuttling from the cold, colorless walls. Michael found himself alone first, he trudged to an empty table made of plastic-coated welded slabs of metal, the round tables bolted to the floor and hardy metal stools numbering five to a table, he sat down and took out his stainless cutlery kit from the bag, he cut into something resembling a biscuit smothered in watery brown gravy, and mashed white paste next to another stringy green vegetable plopped into the four sections. His first bite was swallowed by a gagged choke, Trevor settled next to him soundlessly, his tray having only a bowl of thick soup giving off no steam as to show it’s warmth, Michael slurped down his juice and swallowed another bite of Something-mushy. 

“Hey, kid, don’t go catatonic and nuts-o already on me,” Michael huffed after gulping down a mouthful of the now-flavored ‘meat patty’ and gravy, he remembered food being better when the hippies used to serve Actual food (though vegetarian) with space-brownie desserts, none of that information seemed to be useful since Trevor ate the funny soup absentmindedly. 

“Have you ever been in love, Mike?” Trevor’s mouth hung partially open as he mumbled but never fully chewed any of the crunchy bits, his too-pale cheeks were the color of ripe peach, and something inside Michael clicked, yet at the same time he was confused (Trevor ‘Loved’ anything and Everything on his good side). 

“Can’t say I can relate being that we’re surrounded by the ‘World’s Longest Conga-Line Sausage Party’, or these are some manly, hairy-ass broads we’re within groping distance of. This is the shit you see when the male sex permanently loses their mojo and women take over the breadwinning rights,” Michael said, at long last able to chew without tasting, he took another bite and quickly swallowed before his tongue came to it’s senses and choked him with another dry retch. 

“There it fucking is! That Sarcasm! That Fucking Sarcasm! Fuck!,” Trevor shot a finger into Michael’s face, jabbing between each word, he mimicked his best adding words to his hand puppet-shaped hands as they mouthed into the cold air, “ ‘Nyah-Nyah-Nyah-Nyah-Nyah, I’m gonna ruin an honest fucker’s life today - nyah-Nyah!’ You’re worse than fucking Brad.” 

“Grow a pair, T,” Michael simply said, he was in no mood to deal with the voices in Trevor’s head or the demons ready to jump out of the kid’s pants (anybody standing on the other side of that cock better make a runway for the rough landing), he swigged the last of his tasteless sugary drink and crushed the bottle under his foot, he screwed the lid unto the airtight plastic bottle and put it into his toiletry bag. 

“Growing more balls requires that I let you borrow half, pal-” Trevor lost that goo-goo-eyed stare long enough to frown around his spoonful of newt-eye-and-puppy-tail-soup, the sudden wicked grin lighting up his darkened eyes warned Michael of the soon-to-be-received low-blow of all low-blows, “I don’t know about you, but shouldn’t you be asking Amanda back for those?”

“Bite me,” Michael allowed the snide to drip from his words, it was the dickhead-voice whom seemed to be in control that hour, he flinched not before wincing and peeling Trevor’s jaw from his shoulder, “What the fuck, T!” 

“Yeesh! Y’smell like you’ve been cuddling up to road kill, Mike,” Trevor reeled back, sliding his seat back and making the chair squeak painfully loud like a saw grinding on metal, he leaned over the space between his seat and the table edge, he slurped down another spoonful of the soup, “Should get your skin looked at, eh.” 

“I’m the last guy you should even be bothering about hygiene, kid,” Michael spooned down another heaping pile of white paste and vegetables into his mouth, his teeth crunching painfully as if he were chewing on cold chunks of dry ice, he spat out a pebble and several grains of sand mixed into the ‘food’, he stomached the paste uneasily. 

“You’re the Only guy I should be bothering with that shit, hell, I give off like a bed of fucking Sunday roses and fresh laundry,” Trevor bit into a soft buttered biscuit, then stuffed the rest into his mouth as he chewed the bread slowly, savoring and moaning into each breath, he sucked his fingertips clean and sneezed. 

“Just zip it and finish your fucking…con-vomit stew. Ech,” Michael poked inquisitively at the soup, he snatched his spoon back after swearing the soup burped at him, he gave up at all trying to eat and figured it was high time that he lost the nearly-flat spare tire stubbornly latched around his middle, he lounged on the stool and flicked his stainless utensils into his paper bag, “Starting with losing all taste in my mouth, it looks like we’re gonna have a hell of a day.” 

“Amanda sucked all the fun out of you, eh?” Trevor shrugged to his indifferent mentor, he stirred his soup for a while waiting for Michael to answer, met with silence, he exclaimed a little too loudly so much that a few men turned their way, Trevor threw his arms to the air, “Cheer the fuck up! We’re in for a good time, Mike, inside a shining example of racial-profiling and jingoism upon the government-corrupted-state facility, I think we’re okay for landing balls-deep inside this wiener-cage doing small time. Get-the-fuck Stoked, hombre!” 

Before Michael could even think up a sarcastic reply, Trevor waggled the spoon in his face and half growl-rasped, “Y’see that, eh? That was Optimism. The current bullshit may be thick and bleak, but fuck am I gonna smile my cock out like it’s Mardi Gras morning sitting on five-grand easy.” 

“You’re fucking insane, T!” Michael chuckled, thinking how his colleague had absolutely no needle on the moral compass spinning like a dizzy cuckoo in his head, he remembered just then a bit of their earlier conversation and asked before Trevor steered the discussion towards the argument of democracy and autocracy, “So who’s the ‘Romiet’ to your ‘Juleo’?” 

“You’ll know when you see her,” Trevor sighed like he was breathing the ninety-nine-cent perfume of his first hooker, his rigid posture melted until he was supported by his elbows on his sagging shoulders and head propped dreamily on his enfolded fingers, his giggle shook Michael to the bone, “She’s the most beautiful butterfly to ever break her cocoon without a rusty spoon and back-up scheme.” 

“Why are you attracted to the most outlandish female monstrosities-?” Michael followed the finger which pointed to a lone figure on the other side of the serving hall, half expecting the fur-dense snaggle-toothed lazy-eyed harlot from hell, he instead whispered urgently to Trevor, “Holy shit! She’s a fucking Nun! Holy Mother Freaky-for-the-Savior could be your Grandma! Fuckin-A! She could be my own Ma!” 

“What kind of sick hippo gave you life to call that sweet-” Trevor angrily retorted only to again have the wrath sucked from his brain as he glanced at the lone figure’s direction, his words tapered into clipped honey-soaked drops of dandelion cotton-fluffs dancing like the enticing words of the unforgivable sins (which Trevor dutifully ignored), “-wonderful, pretty little thing…hmmm…” 

“You’re a fucking debauched child, T, and I’d be ashamed to have feelings down below for the ancient ‘Bride of God’ over there,” Michael grumbled, knowing there was no changing his younger colleague’s mind once it was set on a goal (a Highly unattainable one at that); he folded his arms over his paper bag and observed the eyes surveying them also, mostly multi-racial gorillas and those of lower position in their clique trying to make a name for themselves stared at Michael, sex-crazed maniacs and lockup pimps had their claws set for Trevor, he breathed out loudly not meaning to, “Boy, aren’t we popular!” 

“ ‘Course you would-” Trevor licked his spoon clean and dove in for another gooey mouthful, he swallowed and waved his spoon at Michael, “-because your emotions aren’t pure like my love. Age is nothing but a number, and a matter of keeping the narrow-minded pricks like You off our case.” 

“She’s not only Old, but a Nun as in ‘celibacy vows, religious piety’ and all that sanctified jazz washed down with vindicated whistle-blowing,” Michael broke a dozen leers after several of the inmates turned away to watch an armed guard stride to the door, either to let them out to the yard or lead them to rot properly in their cells, he was more on edge than ever by both the trouble they were hardly prepared for and for Trevor’s newest squeeze about to get them another year or two (depending on what Trevor felt would look good on their permanent records), “Do you want to be second-best to the dude runnin’ the show up in the sky? We’re talkin’ church, state, -Sexual-maternal disasters here!” 

“Shit, nail me to a fuckin’ cross, flog me to the goddamn bone, I don’t give the devil’s fiery scrotum-wrinkle Who she’s promised to,” the scary part of Trevor speaking his mind was how he had the wide-eyed gleam in his eyes and serious line his lips made pressed hard together, he shrugged offhandedly, “I can share.” 

“I pity you, kid,” Michael was a little sorry for Trevor also in their shitty predicament, he shook his head, “You’re worse off than Brad.” 

“Nobody gets anywhere with pity, Mike-” Trevor looked as if he were going to stand and make inappropriate gestures or the like, but he nodded to Michael, “-except maybe a pew pity date, eh, so thank you.” 

“Your future children is the shit that makes me fear for my own future family, T,” Michael tightened his arms around the other, contemplating If Trevor had kids, they would be more than missing half their sanity as their father, he shook his head at the thought of Trevor knocking up some poor coke-hooker sniffing crystal just His speed, “You scare up something fierce inside of me.” 

“Get a fucking hold of yourself, man!” Trevor leaned forward with his spoon and bowl of something-unappetizing-stew, Michael held back his equally-disgusting meal, the kid was again too level-headed for their own good, “We’d be taken for a couple of pussies if you lose your cool now, eh. At least wait until we’re out of breathing-distance of every sexually-frustrated animal, then you can start lamenting your blessings.” 

“And I think we’re about to find out, T,” Michael straightened up his posture as a group of gorillas stalked their way, their style was similar to Michael’s: greasy ratted-up hair, sleeveless faded t-shirts sporting prints of ‘the King of Rockabilly’ Silve Hearstly and flaming hotrods, their tattoos were like the graceful black strokes of decal pinstripes done on Vapid and Bravado hotrods, something in their accent red-flagged their east-coast heritage: Italians. 

“The boss’d like a word with you,” a lanky guy pushed his thumbs through his belt-loops and swaggered like he owned the joint, the guy was maybe Trevor’s peer by appearance alone, but the cocky posture and other guys in tow was a dead giveaway stating the man’s high rank beneath the ‘boss’ he spoke of. 

Gears turned in Michael’s head, he had heard the name somewhere before, maybe in the papers, and bingo the name rang a bell being announced in a Vapid cruiser he and Trevor had stolen from a donut-filled cop, “Boss Bettino of the Gambettie Family.” 

“Sorry, man, we don’t affiliate with Bettino or any other mafia by that matter,” Michael respectfully kept his posture neutral, his hands visible and his face frosty as a professional poker player, he motioned to Trevor and himself in a quick nod with his chin and dared not to break eye contact, “My colleage and myself don’t plan on staying here too long to become better acquainted to you fine European specimens of self-serving patriotism.” 

“No habla Italiano. Get the picture, Mario spaghetti-dick?” Trevor dug into his bowl without looking up, he gave no reason for any of them to think he was a threat, so they ignored him. 

The ringleader slammed his hands over the table, shaking the room down to it’s icy concrete foundations, every eye again trained on the loudest scene ready to explode, either into a riot or a humiliating unwanted truce resulting in the pair being taken by the Mafia, he flicked his gaze left and right to the pair, and finally grew tired of not having Trevor’s attention, he grabbed the Canadian by the shirt neck and hauled him up to their level, “Whether y’like it or not at all, Tommy-boys, we ain’t asking for much except the fart becomes the toolie and the baby-” 

“I ain’t moving a fuckin Inch from my hotchpotch, amigo! It’s almost as good as my mom’s!” Trevor was again unwillingly pulled up before he could sit down hard, his growl echoed in the slop-hall, his vision slowly bleeding in anger’s fiery hues, he was ready for whatever was to happen next. 

“Oh, yeah, little-Miss-Buffet, meet the Pompeii Widow,” the inmate revealed himself to be the Widow of Liberty City (Alderny Siders), he flicked a blade right before Trevor’s face, the metal flashed as the tip entered Trevor’s mouth, two centimeters entered, he grabbed the back of Trevor’s head, “Let’s see how much you’re enjoying your last meal.” 

Trevor bit down before there could be more shoved in, he smashed his fist with all the anger he had pent up since arriving in the frozen shit-hole, he wrapped his left arm around the Widow’s head, his forehead met the Widow’s skull, hard, quick, resulting in a broken nose and a temporary blindness and hot blood oozing out. The stunned Widow had no time to react, Trevor forced the body to spin as he vaulted over the table and wrap his body around the prone Widow, he took the knife from his mouth with his right hand and licked the blood from the blade, he positioned the edge on the right side of the Widow’s neck, where there was no major organ besides if he were to stab in deep and search out the major artery beneath the external muscles. Time stopped, people froze, Michael was all too sure they would dust off the ‘Home Sweet Home’ throw pillows because they were not moving from Quincy State in their coming lifetime. 

“Go on. It’s okay. It’s alright, chicken-shit. C’mon, chick-chick-chickey, early bird gets the worm; every worm eats the bird. Yeah, Yeahhh-” Trevor breathed into the left ear of the Widow, he stroked down the high greasy man-pouf in a show to quieten the nervous animal in his clutches, he made one single prick until blood welled out, the red leaking unto the printed Silve Hearstly shirt, the volume in his voice rose until he was shouting, “Personally, between you and me, I prefer gutting, but you confronting me with all this bullshit has just made me a Touch too uneasy for the elegant coup de grâce and you Dumped! My! Fuckin! Hotch-Potch!” 

“For fuck’s sakes, T, you’re gonna get us into an unmarked grave!” Michael shouted, he still stood at the side of the table in case others decided to take a piece of them that was not their’s to begin with, he tried reasoning with his colleague, “Shit, don’t kill the asshole or we’re getting twenty years no-sweat, he’s just a fuckin ‘roid-ed up errand boy doing his bid for the boss!” 

“As a warning, chicken-shit, I’m marking my territory,” Trevor glanced around briefly for the figure in the white robes, no heavenly lady in sight, Trevor’s stroking palm hooked over the Widow’s scalp, yanking the head back and exposing the throat, he began at the top of the skull and punctured skin, the screams nearly shattered his eardrums yet the sounds gave him a half-hard cock pressed up against the middle of the Widow’s back, he dragged the blade down through eyebrows, shut eyelids, to a pair of wide bull-horn lips. 

He began on the next line beginning at the Widow’s scalp which followed the same trail except slanted slightly to run down the Widow’s nose, he finished by adding a vertical line over the top of the first slash, he put a half-circle on the upper half of the other slash and released the Widow from his hold, he put both his feet together and kicked the Widow’s ass until the injured inmate landed with his own cronies, Trevor stood up on top of the table and stomped his foot, the blade pointing all around and his voice rasping clearly, “ ‘Trevor Fuckin Phillips’ better Not slip your slimy second-rate gray-matter, and all you impotent dick-slobs licking the pig’s shit from the ‘suggestions box’, engrave that name into your fucking skulls or I Will do so with a Personal -Fucking- Visit! Comprendo!” 

Just then, the riot squad showed up to conclude their thirty-minutes of mess hall, their guns aimed at the tiny corner that Michael, Trevor and the Mafia underlings occupied, they were instructed, “Down on the ground hands behind your back! Now!” 

Michael dragged Trevor down by the arm, but he slipped on the forgotten spilled soup, the gurgling hoot from his throat had every convict within the room shivering, praying silently for dear life to be spared the ugly welts painting Widow’s face red, Trevor laughed at how they were tucked into the small world at the bottom of the state, because it was almost too easy to say he would not mind ‘living’ here for the rest of his days. His fingers tangled his hair in attempt to cut off his own laugh, but everything spun in deoxygenated circles in tune to his gasping for breath that was too short in the air that was too cold, his stomach hurt by the time the riot squad hauled him up and cuffed both his hands and feet. Shut and close case, it was no mystery where they were headed except for the nearly-bloodless Widow. 

“What did I say about starting shit in the pen, boy! You two brought this on yourselves,” Norton urgently whispered since they were out of earshot and being led first to their next destination, Trevor by that time settled down to giggling and Michael grit his teeth hard until his jaws ached, a long grey hall stretched before them, heavy iron doors pushed tightly together on both sides, Trevor was first released into the room, Michael watched Norton’s beaten riot helmet gleam before his eyes until his cuffs no longer held him, Norton opened the heavy door with a key on the sliding lock, he said before Michael disappeared into the lightless room, “You’ll be seeing me a whole lot more often if you don’t straighten the hell out.” 

“Oink! Oink, Norton!” Trevor shouted, his fists pounding the wall to the sound of retrieving footsteps, “When has being ‘straight’ ever been praiseworthy! Come back in an hour, eh, I’ll have your slop-bucket hot and full!” 

“What the Shit, Trevor! You know why we’re the fuck in here? You’re the fucking reason why we’re in this Quincy ass-crack-cell!” Michael shouted through the concrete walls, he had trouble finding where the room began and where it ended, the walls were cold, rough and only one stainless steel bucket made a hollow noise when he accidentally brushed against it, next to a drain was nothing more interesting than the anger he had not released yet, “I say ‘safe-button’, you say ‘automatic’ - I say ‘shower’, you say ‘Fuck you, M’ - I say ‘jump’, you say ‘Fuck you, M’ - I say ‘shut up and let me do all the talking to these yuppie-jacks’ and you fucking say-” 

“Do you think we made any friends, Mike?” Trevor lounged on the other side of the wall, he had his arms crossed beneath his head and legs propped up, his heart still doing cartwheels and the choir usually screaming hard rock were for the first time in an unending chorus of ‘Hallelujah!’, which lit that little spark of hope in ever seeing the nun again. 

Michael took a moment to breathe, the verbal inferno he was ready to cook Trevor in completely disappeared, he said disbelievingly, “What?” 

“Friends. Y’know, ‘compadres’. You think we’ve got any biting the hook?” Trevor settled into the cold that threatened to only make his partial hard-on all the more pronounced, he shifted his body slightly to alleviate the pressure in his crotch. 

“Cut the line, T, ‘cause they’re fighting the bait as we speak,” Michael leaned up against the wall, his hands going to his armpits for warmth, he wished to say more than quick second-hand advice, but it was all he had replaying over and over at the moment, “Play it cool, T. Just show a Slight sense of control, will ya?” 

“It’s funny what love does to ya, Mike-” Trevor closed his eyes even while the room felt like a double-ply cold wrap, he remembered standing in line for his food until he looked up at the most wonderful sight in all his life; she wore white robes like an angel and had a smile to suit her beautiful face, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth only made her look more distinguished, and he could not answer as she ladled the stew into his bowl, there came those sinful thoughts again, “-you lose All control. Of Everything. Is this how you feel with that chunky stripper or is it just me?” 

“Fuck you, buddy,” Michael bumped his fist into the wall, making an audible ‘thump’ in annoyance, he decided then to bust Trevor’s hump for obviously pulling some weird shit on their end of the deal, since the darkness seemed to amplify the snail-paced passage of time, Michael decided it was time to have real discussion instead of the hit-and-run lectures they had come to call ‘small time’ talk, “By any chance are you breaking those set-in-stone ‘vows’ you took in the frozen tuna can?” 

“Don’t tempt me, sugar-tits,” Trevor laughed, remembering how he held up the line for a full minute just staring with his tray rattling in his shaking hands, his mouth choking to find his voice along the backdrop of his forty-percent fail-rate pickup lines, “Operation: back-end nugatory-territory is still in effect. Strictly ‘No Freebies’.” 

“Yup, we’re dead. We’re gonna end up in an unmarked grave ‘cause you got the sinful-holy hots for the matron saint of the cafeteria,” Michael shrugged, he settled deeper into the slightly warm spot his back made against the wall, he breathed deep and let out shallow breaths only until he felt himself heat a little in his chest, in reality he was more than sure that Trevor would extend both of their sentences. 

“Stick a forty-watt up your ass and Lighten Up! Shit, pork-chop!” Trevor kicked the metal door with his propped leg and felt the cool air creep into his skin, yet was pushed away by the blood pumping away throughout his body, fighting to make it to his groin, he shuddered all too happily in his little cell, “Why do you have to be so negative All - The - Fucking -Time?” 

“Call me the cynical realist, but don’t ever confuse me with a naive optimist,” Michael breathed heavily and rubbed his body slowly to get the numbness from completely overtaking his thinking. 

“Remind me not to get wasted with you, you pessimistic prick,” Trevor stuck his pinky into his ear and flicked away the wax before diving in digging for more treasure, he then paused mid-ear-drill and felt a sudden down-moment where all the happiness ready to burst from his chest vanished and left him a depressed drain of doubt, he kicked the door and shouted, “Fuck is your misery contagious! You say some of the most despicable shit, enough to make a man hang himself out of sheer amusement.” 

“I try, T,” Michael again shrugged, he stood up and paced the room, his hands reaching across but not without his shoulder bumping against the other, he tried reaching the door to the wall behind, his arms strained outward and reached the end only until he took two paces, so their rooms were roughly three-yards by one-and-quarter-yard, he whispered in their damning hour, “Magnificent!” 

“Ohh!” Trevor stabbed his index finger in whichever area he had heard his mentor’s voice filter in from, he resolved how easy their time would be were he to completely ignore Michael’s man-o-pause statements, because all in all, he was having the time of his life so far, “You asshole. You poor, pitiful, joyless, miserable cocksucking asshole.” 

Michael stood up from his lunges, he swung his arms and said simply as much as truth was spared on their part, since they lied little to each other about, “You lucky, strange, young, stupid beautiful bastard.” 

“Thanks,” Trevor said, his mind resuming the pinky-mining of his other ear, his heart lifted for the description and possible compliment which was passed his way. 

“Don’t mention it,” Michael went back to his isometrics and quick calisthenics workouts, the room was ideal for isolation but shit on the ‘freedom’ part. 

“But I’m not stupid,” Trevor flicked out the last of his earwax and lounged, the sound of his blood moving along the only kind of kinship he had tying him to the beasts outside in their open cells. 

“The jury’s out on that one, T,” Michael huffed as he jogged in place. 

“Fuck you, blubber-butt,” Trevor stuck his invisible finger in the dark, the opaque lack of light swallowing him whole and making his vision explode in spots. 

“Don’t mention it,” Michael again went for a second rep of lunges, he did a few butterfly strokes to warm-down his muscles and simply said, “Really, don’t fucking mention it.” 

“Sure, I can’t wait to get outta here,” Trevor yawned, his mouth stretching wide and his teeth clicked as his body melted into the stiff, icy concrete. 

“Me, too,” Michael answered, wiping the sweat from his face and neck, he settled on the wall and slid down, his seat finally meeting the ground. 

“I meant solitary,” Trevor murmured, he shifted slightly for his arm to reach down and scratch at the thin hairs springing up from below his navel. 

“The future is now for sure to be mourned, T, I tell ya,” Michael said, resting his head against the wall and not at all minding the cold assaulting his still-warm limbs. 

“This so-called ‘Future’ you’ve predicted better supply lube, guns and a mountain of heroine, Saint Shit-Stain,” Trevor mumbled offhandedly, he reached a little further into his jeans, his palm resting on the proverbial ‘snooze button’. 

“Oh, your faith always rewards me, my good believer,” Michael’s lids drooped briefly, he welcomed the deeper kind of blindness only wide-eyed sleepers had, he folded his arms over his chest and continued, “We’ve got more waiting than the dope-slope, kid, just keep your cool and the five years’ll be up like a snap.” 

“The irony, Mikey, the irony of keeping cool in a place colder than a witches tit…” Trevor’s voice trailed off, his light snores accompanied by a twitch in his leg signaled his dropping off to wherever his mind went when not occupying a certain mental space reserved for the terms of ‘normalcy’.  
_

Time passed in full trays being taken back empty, bowl movements, bladder discharges, the dun of the heater periodically switching off and humming on, fleeting dark gray-yellow light passing beneath the tiny crease crack of the doorway. They were both content with the isolation, but most of the time needing to have a siren blast in their cell to break up the verbal fights, usually starting with Michael coaxing Trevor to have better manners or to rid himself of questionable actions and vocabulary, it all went through Trevor’s ear and had no lasting effect. But time as it always had done in the past simply Passed them by without so much as an alarm ring, by the time light ever met their tired eyes, they were first cuffed and led to a barber whom was a police officer, and by the looks of it: Michael and Trevor had been locked up for nearly ten months, one month for assaulting another inmate and the next nine for the time the said-inmate spent recovering in an outside hospital. Trevor was first pushed into the barber’s chair and had his budding stubble razor-shaved, his long dark brown waves buzzed right off with a one-half-centimeter clipper, and he was again cuffed and marched straight down another hall. 

Michael sat down, his eyes counting off the dusty specks of concrete, lint and hairs laying like dead snakes laying on the black rubber floor, his head was tilted back into a familiar face he had probably forgotten in the first week of sitting in the solitary cell, Norton stated flatly, “So we meet again, inmate.” 

Michael nodded and lay back, his soaped beard was gently swept away by the warm razor’s kiss against his skin, his hair was treated with more respect than the mop-mowing Trevor received, Norton brushed his fingers through the black waves and clipped, he brushed a comb over Michael’s scalp and again decisively clipped. Michael only stared straight up at his only vantage of Norton’s concentrated blue eyes and slightly furrowing brows, he reminded himself after feeling a telltale twitch in his jeans ‘For the love of Pete! I am Not Gay! I’m no flaming fuck-wad Pansy!’ But his relaxed state betrayed his better judgment when he felt Norton ease him up and at the same time slide something unnoticed into his pocket, he glanced back over his shoulder and saw Norton wink at him, it might have been a muscle twitch or maybe a stray eyelash, but there was no mistaking the semi-hardness in Norton’s dark blue cotton police slacks. 

The light gradually grew brighter, the air fluctuating between tepid and slightly freezing as Michael and his law-abiding entourage passed through heated sectors, the halls no longer had the countless doors lining either side, and they ended up in the same shower room they had first seen when they were taken in only they had taken a back route through the slop-hall kitchens. He stripped down completely at the officers’ request, careful to stash away whatever Norton had put inside his pocket safely into his armpit, and joined Trevor beneath the feebly lukewarm spray weakly spurting streams of gummy water, they had both gotten the disinfectant-pesticide dusting only to have their toiletries given back and their clothing taken away. 

Trevor turned around to the officers, he took off his shirt and ragged underwear, he said, “Hey, hit me!” 

As requested, the officers again dusted him down with the grainy white sanitary powder, he scrubbed his clothing over his body and back, he looped one end through his legs and scrubbed his necessities like a rocking-seesaw-horse, they both rinsed off and Michael was issued new underwear and an undershirt, while Trevor wrung his clothes dry and put them back on still damp, they took their toiletries (and Trevor’s new underwear) out to the ‘Walk of Shame’ passageway they had already been through, each icy step brought them to new heights of humiliation as they were paraded out like a spell of déjà vu, the inmates were thankfully locked in and unable to hang over the rails and make their obscene gestures. Trevor strutted a step ahead of Michael, his wet shirt sticking to every bulge and dip of his body, his underwear serving no purpose as to leave anything to the imagination, they were stopped at a cell at the very middle of the tier, the dead-center split between two gangs, an unnamed faction, a mafia and maybe a handful of criminal misfits. 

“Dump sweet dump,” Trevor huffed tiredly, he flopped on the wall corner and looked to Michael whom stood beside him. 

“So-” Michael stared at the bottom and top bunk, he asked, “-who sleeps where?” 

“I don’t give a shit,” Trevor said, he slung his shirt off his body and thumped his head against the chalky-gray walls. 

“I’ll have the bottom,” Michael exhaled without moving his tight lips, and assumed they had talked too much to even say more than half a dozen words to one another face to face. 

“Creaky in the bones, eh?” Trevor snorted, he jumped up unto the top bunk. 

“Fuck you, spring-chicken,” Michael sat down first, he stretched his stiff legs and settled on his back. 

“Fuck you back, old-timer,” Trevor breathed, the stale air buzzing from the invisible blanket of tension rising on their block, only realizing it was theirs’ to deal with the next day.  
_

Trevor opened his eyes, he had long lost himself in the hymns being sung by the collective in bible study and prayer, he shifted his elbows atop the pew and shifted his knees before they started to cramp, he wondered of the maybe-the-one-month he and Michael had spend out of solitary confinement and after fourteen Bible Study Courses that he could not have seen that same nun dressed in white livery robes and black rosary beads. The woman was Hard to miss since prisoners had worn blue and the other nuns had black robes and were considerably younger than the white angel that haunted him, Trevor stood up and blessed himself with the motioned cross over his shoulders, head and chest, he gathered up his pamphlet and bible to hand back to the awaiting sisters, but there performing oblation was the very woman dressed in white. The wickedness and sinful little devils that made up Trevor seemed as if to disappear, he fidgeted in the line and he just about jumped to his knees before the nun and dutifully opened his mouth, his eyes staring into those promising infinite wisdom and kindness, again his heart felt full and overflowing with a love only a creator possessed over their creations. 

“The body of Christ. Amen,” she spoke to Trevor like a seraphim to the innocence retained by a child, he never broke eye contact as she lifted a white wafer to his lips, his mouth closed but he leaned forward ever so slightly to kiss her retreating fingertips, she smiled gently at his antics, she lifted a golden chalice to his lips and whispered, “The blood of Christ. Amen.” 

He took a single sip of cranberry juice instead of wine, but could not care less until he could show the nun over and over again how smitten he felt in her presence, she tipped the chalice up slowly and drew her hand away not before Trevor grasped her right hand in his own, bringing the soft worn hands to his cheek as he laid his head against her waist and hooked his left arm around her lower back. The nuns gasped in their readiness to report an attack to the nearest officer stationed outside of the small worship-room, yet the nun waved them off, she passed off the chalice to the next nun and nodded for them to continue. Those looking on would have cringed in disgust, maybe even in arousal, all seemed as if to try to forget what they had seen, but those who knew better now had ammunition against the kid Trevor Phillips, some even pegging him of having a soft heart, they all kept their eyes away but were all too fully aware of the scene going down in QSCF history as the ‘Weirdest Fucking Shit’. Her hand lightly patted his stubble-like hair, Trevor nestled further into the softly-scented robes and thought he had for the first time found a woman he could wholly give his heart to unquestioningly and never ask for anything in return. Just like his mother. 

“Good Lord, I’m saved,” Trevor whispered into the folds enveloping him. 

Half an hour had passed before Michael found himself alone in chow hall, his hunger triumphing over the taste he was used to in Normal corn and Normal meat patties, he stomached the questionable processed Things on his tray and gulped down his juice in attempt to mask the flat-salty taste. Trevor settled beside him, his eyes shining like he had been given the ‘all the world’s good, all is great, you’re pardoned’ by the state of Quincy. 

“That must’ve been one hell of a sermon, kid,” Michael dug into his meal, his tongue unable to disentangle the taste of wax and soap. 

“I’ve been saved,” Trevor shuddered visibly, he again looked like he had been touched by an angel, ‘touch’ in the non-biblical sense. 

“You should have came here Years ago to save all those poor priests the trouble,” Michael sat back and chewed his salty mixture before drowning in the sugar-free sour fruit punch mix in his paper cup. 

“Don’t you get it!” Trevor’s eyes lit up, he turned toward his colleague and patted his chest with his open palms, his voice projecting the same insane hope he had for making the best of their worst dilemmas where time stood like an unbuttered cock positioned at a virgin ass, “She loves me! She loves Trevor Phillips!” 

“I’d be offended to think anyone else wouldn’t, T,” Michael down played the enthusiasm, he on the other hand was used to seeing the worst through Trevor’s rose-colored glasses, “Who d’ya mean exactly?” 

“Mother Constantine,” Trevor’s eyes sparkled at the mention of his lady-love in white regalia and gentle pale blue eyes, his lovelorn sigh made Michael flinch. 

“Whoa, whoa, Whoa! Back up, rewind, slo-mo, and Pause!” Michael attempted to figure out What kind of feelings Trevor had for the high-ranked holy servant whom gave out their daily blessings with a serving spoon, he nearly tore out the hair he had painstakingly pomaded and puffed up high over his forehead, he sorted out what he knew and how much of the screwed up system he understood to roughly calculate how much shit they were in, “Are you listening to yourself again, T, or those shit-brained voices inside your head? What’d you do to her? You did something to her, didn’t you? Oh, fuckin Damn!” 

“Well, nothing inappropriate, dick-face,” Trevor answered through the loud clanging, banging and talking done in the too-small room of cramped seating space, he sucked the end of his spoon innocently, “I was a good boy.” 

“So then-” Michael goaded impatiently, he slammed his fists into the table to get his younger colleague’s memory jogging a little faster if he was not so busy sighing like a bride on her wedding day, “Spit it out! If I’m gonna be here for another decade, I have the right to know how you made me the co-conspirator of your one-pound-unholy-schemes and it Better be a Good fuckin Reason, you fuckin whack-o!” 

“Stop busting your hump, sugar-tits, all I did was take sacrament and give her a kiss,” Trevor sat unaffected, his mood somehow not doing the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree-swing it usually had done when he was shouted at or spoken to with the wrong choice of vocabulary. 

“A fuckin-!” Michael ignored the improved temper Mother Constantine had done for Trevor, his mind tallied up all the most damning evidence and verdicts stacked against them like the sad Statue of Happiness standing in the middle of the ocean, “When we go before the judge, I’m not going to say I was involved in sexual harassment for a reduced sentence!” 

“It was an innocent gentleman’s kiss to the hand, asshole, I didn’t go full-monty and desecrate anything holy worth my piss and vinegar,” Trevor idly drilled a hole in the thick gravy-and-potato dumpling stew he had steaming beneath his nose, his shoulders slumped just a touch before he perked up and jabbed his elbow against Michael, “Loosen up. You’re starting to make Me miserable. Why can’t you be one of those Quietly-moping Bums you see these days on the music tube?” 

Michael knew he was a clinically-depressed former jock with a trophy slung on his dick and ‘Homecoming King’ written all over his solid body, but none of that mattered once the titles had been taken away by experience and age, he fired back unintentionally, “Why can’t you for-fuckin-Once get your shit together and quietly-” 

“Do time like a moping con?” Trevor interrupted, he was tired of hearing the poor-itty-bitty-me-speeches Michael had always prepared as a rebuttal in their constant ‘conversations’ as of late, he made the OK-sign with his left finger and said, “Oh, topnotch golden advice! Someone give this cynical asshole a blowjob!” 

“-Live your Life, Trevor. Just keep on living,” Michael backtracked his words and shut down the perpetual anger he had towards Trevor, and rationalized that Trevor tolerated Amanda, and it was his turn to return the favor by approving for the moment of his questionable relationship he had with both the ‘Man Upstairs’ and the ‘Bride of God’. 

“Y’know something, tubby-time-waster? I’ve been choking since we landed tit-up in this fucking knock-a-con-cock-train,” Trevor’s voice had the same anger, but not towards Michael’s inability to understand, the opposite, his own weakness to do more than be the ideal ‘poster child of lost innocence’ for Mother Constantine to comfort, the truth his next words held rendered his mentor speechless, “And I have never been this alive even while I was still free outside of these walls. I’m in love, I can’t help it, Mikey, but I am.” 

“Wow,” Michael finally spoke, he searched Trevor’s face for anything which told him a lie, but nothing gave and he had no other choice than to reassess his earlier opinion for the given facts, “Shit’s that serious, huh?” 

“As the plague,” Trevor met his eyes, and there was that starved well deep down in his heart which Michael saw so well, he never knew the loneliness his younger colleague was subjected to suffer, he whispered as every sound in chow hall seemed as if to dull and die down, “I love her, and leaving her is not an option. I won’t.” 

Michael shook his head in slight disapproval, but instead opted to allow Trevor every limited freedom they had to alleviate the isolation they seemed as if to be characteristic of, he nodded to Trevor, “I think it’s best if you stop talking about it and I’ll forget even bringing it up, deal?” 

“Cha-ching,” Trevor agreed, he slurped the soup from his spoon and focused his attention on the stainless gleam of the bowl. 

“Have you chosen a job yet, T?” Michael asked, he began wolfing down the ‘food’ and knew their time to eat was limited. 

“It never crossed my mind,” Trevor said, he usually spent his day applying for one of the countless jobs only to get escorted back to his cell or solitary confinement. 

After arriving respectively back at their cell, the blaring air-raid-siren-styled horn indicated the workers to get back to their jobs and officer-escorts back to their posts to lead the inmates to the worksites. Michael pulled on his snow boots, layered his sweats over his denim jeans and baggy polyester pants atop, he grabbed his shabby second-hand flannel jacket and said over the metal bunk at the occupant, “Off to make a living I go.” 

“Have fun,” Trevor answered, he had his nose buried in a bible and folded blanket beneath his head, “We need the money, rent’s due this month.” 

“Ha-ha, I forgot how much of a grand asshole our landlord was,” Michael felt his chest lighten as he zipped up his jacket and stepped out of the cell, he said before exiting the familiar misery their once-normal live had in the room of a flaky North Yankton motel or a condemned square of an apartment, “You need to pull your own weight, too, y’know? In the ‘land of the Free’, shit ain’t gonna tick penniless like the twenty-four-hour porno channel, kid.” 

Those same words used to get Trevor off the cum-stained sheets of the apartment/motel bed and put him into money-making-gear, but today the world outside the bars of their cell seemed depleted of all his interest, not until inspiration struck in the form of a holy premonition, he failed to get a ‘job’ at the local church. He rolled off the top bunk and tucked his bible underneath his arm, he slid the barred door shut so that he would return in the evening whereas it would be unlocked or occupied already by Michael, he passed by the begging hands and cracked a nose or two on the landing of touchy ‘daddies’ trying to get their kicks from blowing their load in his ass. 

An officer stopped him by mere suspicion, but let him go when the sight of the bible caught his eye, he waved Trevor on through and shouted at the fatalities wounded by Trevor’s legendary skull, he pulled up his pants higher and waggled his billyclub at the wounded inmates, “Yeah! That’s how We roll, Bitches! What!” 

Trevor’s feet squeaked to a halt outside of the room he was intent on reserving for himself, he smoothed back his hair but forgot it was barely growing, he smoothed down his hoodlum-looking rock t-shirt and dusted off the lint on his jeans, he entered and glanced everywhere as if it were the first time he was seeing the room he had spent so much of his days inside of. He glanced at the slightly peeling murals of saintly icons exhibited throughout the room’s walls, a few framed pictures and a painted cross graced the head of the room, he timidly stepped through the center walkway with pews lined at a slight angle towards the desk set before the cross. Just ahead sat Mother Constantine praying in Latin over raised platform, he approached, glancing suspiciously left and right for the deep mistrust of empty rooms of any kind, he tightened his sweating palms into fists just in case the screw decided to frame him unjustly. 

“Come, my child,” Mother Constantine’s voice clearly stopped him in his tracks, she turned to see the blushing kid kneel slowly at her side, “What is it you come to these chambers for?” 

“Work,” Trevor tucked his knees beneath himself as he settled on the concrete floor beside the padded seat the Mother sat upon, he answered her in his suddenly-tiny tone, “I would like for the Lord to use me as His instrument.” 

“Truth in it’s entirety is usually never made clear if I have ever heard a more true lie,” Mother Constantine gazed fully at Trevor, her face not showing an expression of provocation, she looked to a close mural of a mighty knight of the Crusades, “Do you wish really to be the Lord’s shield or his sword?” 

Trevor neither wanted to protect the non-believers or fight for the believers, he merely figured that he would be closer to Mother Constantine and pass time also, he said to her in his more assured voice, “I only want to serve, Mother Constantine, because what good am I if I’m useless to change my ways a five-year-sentence too late?” 

“How do you wish to be paid, Trevor?” she glanced at him, whether out of suspicion or simply because he was the only living person within earshot at the moment. 

But Trevor felt the weight of her complete trust suddenly thrust upon his shoulders and his brain squealing ‘Holy shit on Brimstone! She -knows- my Name!’ he answered honestly enough which surprised even himself, “Your gratitude is payment enough, Mother Constantine.” 

He spent the entire day cleaning the ‘church’s’ floor, polishing the painted-over cement pews, moving crates of paper pamphlets from the delivery truck outside into the locked storage inside the room, his donated time ended with his nose studying the same page as his Mother Constantine at her wooden desk, he nearly had to pull himself away as the lights-out-siren sounded, jarring him from his serene daydreams of himself and Mother Constantine doing regular things like attending prom and writing to each other in poetry. He was escorted out by an armed guard and locked into the cell with Michael looking at him owl-faced. The silence between them felt entirely foreign, yet entirely welcome since Michael looked like he had a shitty day laying down miles of gravel and pounding those same miles with tons of asphalt, the smell used to irk the hell out of them both, but neither seemed to mind in the juncture of a building pressure by mixed emotions boiling outside in their neighbors cells. 

“I got a job today,” Trevor hopped on the top bunk and settled completely into the flat metal frame and flaking foam mattress. 

“Yeah? I got the midnight shift because of a fucking pileup and the state ‘losing money’ over ‘worker’s comp’ which resulted in this lockdown caused by a couple of Latinos kicking a Brotha’s ass over a crumb of stale bread,” Michael said without his usual vocal irony to waste on a perfectly swell trade of pleasantries, he swung his legs into bed still garbed in his winter gear and stared up into the graffiti scratched into the metal of Trevor’s bed frame. 

“Nice to see you’ve had a productive day, too,” Trevor put his bible underneath his pillow and asked in mild interest, “Who started the war?” 

“It could have been a pigeon squirting on an unlucky motherfuck, and instead of putting that flying rat out of his misery, they up and lotto out a minority, by coincidence as his luck would have it was a poor Soul Pride gangster!” Michael mentioned the gang next door to the right of their cell and the Azteca Latinos to the right of their own door, the air again seemed to vibrate with a building hatred that they could not stop or hide from, “Nobody knows, but we’re expected to have locked cells for the next eleven weeks.” 

“We gotta break out the trusty old rash and hemorrhoid cream, eh? This fucking sucks,” Trevor said, he and Michael had endured thankfully only a week when they had been let out of solitary, and any longer to drive a man insane was more and more daunting, “Any word on us ‘employed’ bastards?” 

“All operations are halted except for us highway crew, laundry crew, cleaning crew and the resident ‘bible-thumper committee’,” Michael answered, he was ready to ask for a cell change if the next ill-prophesized eleven weeks would have Trevor talking to his own shadow, he was grateful for the twelve hours he had been given to breathe air outside and make five-and-a-half cents an hour, his headache grew quickly at the thought of low production on the only reliable muscle they had and the new team was sure to be a bunch of whiny thumb-suckers, “Shit, my crew is all gone except for me and some guy who can barely stand the weight of his own skeleton, we’re expecting some pretty wimpy fuckers tonight.” 

“You’ll live, sugar-tits,” Trevor stepped down from the top bunk and went to the sink to brush his teeth with the salty toothpaste and greasy soap they were given, he washed his face and kicked off his shoes before crawling into the top bunk and happily wishing for the instant arrival of tomorrow. 

A light flashed into the cell hours later, Michael crawled out of bed and cracked a few bones on his way to the unlocked door, he vaguely knew he was walking by the lazy pressure on his feet and the sluggish gait he had plodding through the walkway and waiting for others of his crew to join the midnight-idiot-parade headed for below-bladder-freezing-temperatures and in the middle of ‘Highway Nowhere’. He caught an hour of sleep and was roused by a nightstick pressing into his sore shoulders, he stumbled out of the bulletproof transport van and was first burned by the terribly dry frigid air, he woke fully then, grabbing a small shovel and pushing a dented wheelbarrow to a gravel mound located nearly a kilometer on the other side of the prepared road. Michael shoveled the gravel into the wheelbarrow ahead of the sleepwalking inmates on their way to the same pebble-mountain he occupied, he filled it to the top and began his trek back in the calf-high snow, he arrived at a marked off area and began scooping out gravel evenly, he packed down the area with the flat head of his shovel and went back to the mound as soon as his wheelbarrow depleted dauntingly. 

Their coffee break consisted of only a cup of cool watery broth and a handful of stale bread, Michael quickly drank down the flavorless broth and stuffed the crumbly bread into his mouth before he chased his snack with a cup of cold coffee, he stretched for the next five minutes and got back to work with his sixteen-men-meager-team. The time they had lost from the hours before had been advanced twofold, but they had to work harder since the weather turned for the added snow and the gravel mound grew farther and farther away the longer they worked, the sun peeked over the horizon in painted shades of white-blue and white-gray, they were only past six hours in to their shift when an inmate collapsed. Most had thought it was the temperature or exhaustion, but it was only for the fact that the inmate was both physically weak and hungry, they were given another helping of flavored water, coffee, and molding breadcrumbs. All in all, Michael hated how close they were to leaving and leaving the free-world weather untouched, but the only thing that kept him from running out into the white infinity was his young defenseless acolyte sitting pretty in their cell still a prison-virgin. Michael saw nothing in screwing his younger colleague, but the kid did deserve an extra pair of eyes looking over his shoulder, and Michael sweated out his anger over their bad decisions for the next hours of sunlight. 

Michael slept on the return trip as did the rest of his crew, he plodded stiffly through the outer gate, his safety gear removed and his body checked over for hard lumps, his limbs scanned by a magnet instead of the fancy metal detectors, he was escorted through the walkway and inner wire fencing until he was free to climb the stairs back up to his cell. He hardly expected Trevor to be present, the kid found work where it made him happy and he was not about to argue the absolute wrongness he felt with the said-ménage-trios-relationship going on in the chapel, he picked up his lone sack-lunch from the floor and guzzled down the water, he fell right to sleep before he even hit the mattress and allowed the day to slide on by as it always had without the use of clocks. The lights-out-siren blared as his cell door failed to slide open, he rose to his feet and looked both way at a passing guard and several inmates being taken back to their cells, yet he saw no twinkle-eyed Canadian strutting through or making rude remarks at passing the neighboring cell doors. 

“Hey, guard!” Michael shouted to whichever officer was closest, one came his way, it was Norton, “Hey, have you seen a kid ye high and quick-mouthed?” 

Norton quirked his lips, a dark shadow passing over his pale eyes, he questioned off topic, “Are you two fucking?” 

“Have you seen him or not, Norton?” Michael pressed his face into the bars, his gloved hands grasping the bars tight, he huffed in annoyance, “Quit fucking playing with me, I know You know something about him.” 

“The Widow’s lackeys got the jump on him, he’s in isolation for the remainder of the year,” Norton answered flatly, he picked a stray hair off his immaculate dark blue suit, clearly not seeing or completely ignoring Michael’s distress. 

“Is he okay?” Michael asked, he reached out and grabbed Norton by the black tie when he was not given an explanation, he shouted into the impassive face, “Answer me dammit! Is Trevor alright, Norton?” 

“Adding expletives and threats might keep your ass out of other fuckers’ hands-” Norton pulled away and smacked Michael’s hand with his billyclub, he stepped directly up to the barred door as Michael dared not to shout and cower away, “-you’ll be disappointed to know that tough-guy shit doesn’t work on me, Mike. Address me properly and I will answer in kind.” 

Michael calmed himself down some, repeating over and over in his head that the kid was more important than the ugly bruise forming on his left hand, he asked in the slightest respectfully, “How is Trevor?” 

“Not dead,” Norton easily stated, he turned away and walked down the tier, out of Michael’s sight. 

Michael quickly got to the sink and plugged up the drain, he turned on the tap and put his hand into the icy water, he could truly admit to himself how much he hated that officer with an open honesty for the lack of a better word, “Motherfucking cock-sucking homo!”  
_

A number of weeks had passed, the swelling in Michael’s hand had gone down, he finally got up the guts to request a word with the higher ups whom happened to have enough time to hear his grievances personally, his presence was requested instead for information on an incident and was then formally escorted past lights-out time through the winding halls and stairs, finally arriving at his destination: the records’ office. The outer appearance had the same unimpressive gray paint and concrete, but a surprise it came to see an entire room dedicated to drawers full of filed paper and carpet on the ground, for the first time in he could not remember how long, Michael felt his feet warm and heat itself inside his shoes. 

The unbearable blast of hot air from the heater drew the sweat from Michael’s skin and made him breathe uneasily as a shadow rose from behind the desk, “Y’wanted to see me-?” 

“Dave. Dave will do,” Norton turned in his leather office chair, his ridiculous patrol cap set upon a stack of labeled files, Michael nearly strangled himself for his insufferably bad luck. 

“Y’wanted to see me, Dave?” Michael held back the scoff in his voice, he switched standing on one foot and transferred to the other, his uneasiness seeming to Norton that much more entertained, “It’s about my cellmate, isn’t it? Why doesn’t that not tilt the world on it’s axis?” 

“I wanted to know what I was dealing with in terms of his sentence, Townley,” Norton idly flipped through a book log, his flat voice betraying the smirk held like a closely-kept secret in his lips, “There’s nothing more disappointing than underestimating the overestimated.” 

Michael thought over the inquiry leading him to believe the ball was in his own court, but realized Norton was just playing him the love-sick fool and was instead twisting his balls in a vice for this small talk, he knew things would be smoother and his decision wiser if he just gave Norton the ploy he was asked of. He gallantly fought his better judgment, but his worry for Trevor’s sake won against pride. 

“Several points need to be made in his case,” Michael spat out the words as if was painful to move his lips and tongue, he felt Norton stare him down like an alien landing for greasy takeout and zipping off back into space, he recounted his memory for useful information he had acquired from his previous incarceration, “In my time here back in nineteen-seventy-eight, I’ve learned a thing or two about how this criminal-cake is layered. From the dick-grinder bottom to the political-garnish top.” 

“The row is leading up to your little friend, right? Am I underestimating Phillips or is my occupation getting me ahead of myself?” Norton sniped, cutting easily to the kill rather than playing on the sidelines with wordplay and an impending verbal chase. 

“It’s all up to you, Norton,” Michael raised his cuffed wrists and shrugged with his blue eyes doing half the pleading in his words. 

“Dave,” Norton corrected, his amusement waning in the slightest. 

“There are four types of people to me, Norton, in the subcategory of looking as good as the kid does: -” Michael steeled the voice of the rat against the other resembling the heart of his ‘Thief’s Code’ (or the resemblance he had of bringing a little romantic rationality in his chosen profession), he wished he had a place to sit so as to save himself the shame of being stood up like the classroom dunce, he met Norton’s gaze and held, “Those that have the looks, but are influenced by everyone in terms of fear and plain stupidity. Those that keep their shit to themselves, their sob-stories and such. The nobodies that forgive and forget. They all hesitate and never take a scarring without losing their soul.” 

“How do all these stereotypes revert back to your cellmate? He’s a kid, not invincible,” Norton answered, he was vaguely familiar with all the categories of inmate from A to Z, from country cock to city ass, and none seemed so different after giving one or the other the power of fear, and everyone had his own share of the Achilles’ heel of manly Pride to protect. 

“That’s just it-” Michael gripped his cufflink chains and remembered all the reasons why Trevor was told he was not military material, work-safe, fail-safe, some of the reasons were psychological, the others seemed to be something Trevor was born with, Michael trusted the hotshot Miss Phillips less and less of her hand in Trevor’s usually-fatherless upbringing, “-he is the exact opposite of both our explanations. The kid is just angry and semi-oppressive to his peers under nearly all circumstances - which makes him a freak-super-psycho under pressure. Shrinks turned him away, because they can’t figure out how to calm him down long enough for a diagnosis or study him to be put on methadone poppers.” 

Norton caught the halfhearted glare burning into him, he asked flatly as if to understand finally why they had spent a minute trading information they would have otherwise not told for shits and giggles, “What are you asking from me, Townley?” 

“Take it easy on the kid, it’s not his fault if this place drives him ape-shit and I know you’ve got a record on him,” Michael’s eyes dropped to the desk before finding their way back to Norton reclined in the office chair, he knew how much of a softie he was sounding like and how much of a pussy-fool jackass he was beginning to feel like, but Trevor and himself needed an ally for fuck’s sakes seeing as how long they had got on quite miserably without one since their first day in the pen, “Get rid of it for me, that’s all I ask, Norton.” 

“First off, call me Dave, goddamit,” Norton’s fingers twirled a pen, he stated firmly backing his words with his badge and the risks he would be taking for going behind the facility’s back and rubbing out Trevor’s record, “Second, every favor I am requested, I ask for two. Alright?” 

“You won’t have any trouble from me-” Michael said, he added when met with a raised brow, “-Dave.” 

“Good,” Norton stood up from his seat and strode right before the inmate, his finger tracing the thick muscles corded on Michael’s neck, the stiff adam’s apple and slight stubble on the solid cleft chin, he nearly purred, “But first, let’s pop your throat-cherry.” 

“Jeeze, I don’t think I heard you right,” Michael pulled himself away from Norton’s hand only half a step back, he felt slightly ashamed for being so preoccupied with navigating the system and not getting killed in the process, finding Trevor’s whereabouts and cutting the kid a break at the same time - that thoughts of Amanda slipped his mind completely, all he remembered was her weighing nearly twice Michael’s weight and none of it resting in her heart. 

Norton stepped back and spoke, “I said clearly enough, should I repeat myself?” 

“Nope, don’t need to waste any hokey-pokey bullshit on me, Davey,” Michael heard the challenge in Norton’s voice, he swallowed his pride and puke before he could release the liquid projectile over the officer’s leg and apparent hardness, he for some odd reason felt a slight satisfaction in giving his corrections officer full-blown wood (pun intended), he situated himself on his knees before grumbling, “You must get really dumb shits to dance your tunes out here.” 

“Believe me, Townley, nobody plays my song quite like you do,” Norton whispered, he rubbed Michael’s neck and decided he would book the inmate for a trimming tomorrow, he admired the strength in Michael’s body, knowing everywhere was solid through the varying layer of slight fat found where hard lines and cuts of muscle flexed like old memories, like an album of life’s habits dying hard. 

Michael unzipped the dark blue pants awkwardly in his cuffs and closely-tethered wrists, the determination in his hands betrayed the hesitation shown by his eyes and prayed Norton did not catch the fear flash on his face, he took a deep breath and pulled Norton’s drawers down without bothering even to unbuckle or unbutton the fly properly, being that he never took notes while getting head or ever gave head to another guy. His muscles refused to move as he stared the hard cock in the pisshole as if to Will the damned thing to discharge and end the entire ordeal where he could skip happily back to his cell and hate himself forever for having cum splat on his face, but in the meantime laugh to Trevor and call Norton a preemie-nut-buster, he was in a death-match of testing wills with the hard dick pointed smack between his eyes. Nothing else but the piss-slit was his main concern, Michael unwittingly wrinkled his nose and decided now-or-never as he opened his mouth without curling his lips inwards to cushion his teeth or giving his lips a bit of much-needed moisture or sticking his tongue out to Properly welcome the snake to the jungle. 

Before he could mindlessly gulp down the blessedly-not-huge-dick, Norton jerked his hips back and said, “You’re not into it, Michael.” 

Michael glared up from his broken concentration where he had Finally blanked out his mind enough to forget All boner-killing events taking place, yet at the same time he thanked every deity he had ever heard of and just managed to say without an ounce of relieved disappointment, “Won’t you let the penis-professional have a private word with Erato first, I think we’re both experiencing a mental breakdown.” 

“Get up,” Norton said, he dragged Michael up by the cuff-link when no movement was made apparent, he hissed sternly, “On your fucking feet, Townely! There. Just stand.” 

Michael nearly jumped a yard backwards as Norton suddenly thrust his cock into his cuffed hands, he mentally gagged thinking it was better to have the thing in his hands rather than choking him, the accompanying whisper made him hyper-aware of how long he had gone skipping over sex altogether like a broken record skidding right over a song’s chorus lines or crescendo, “Is that better?” 

“Are you asking if my distaste for my current situation improved? Give me a harder question, Davey,” Michael asked, he grew distracted by the hot kisses burning the skin of his neck, each one feeling like the jolt of electricity shocking him alive and at the same time leaving a vibrating thrill behind as evidence of the fluke, his own cock twitched in approval. 

He gripped the slender hardness in his hands, experimentally squeezing and firmly tugging from the base to the blood-reddened crown, Norton’s shuddered kisses sounded more pained, he frantically reasoned with himself of how Essential it was to return a favor after receiving one as he gave another experimental pull of his hands. His skin crawled, his head thumped, his nose recoiled from the smell of another man’s cock, his jaws hurt from being clenched against Norton’s sloppy kisses peppered all over his face and neck, he felt like he was shamefully forced to jack off the family pet while being goaded on by his friends to prove he was both a man and had a sick sense of humor, but if he ever was subjected to such a humiliating torture, Michael knew one thing: animals do Not hug back. Slowly, gradually, he came back to the present with a determination to make Norton blow his wad and set him free, but at the same time was wishing to remain in the one place he knew he could not lie or bullshit to a man who held all the cards and keys to running the frozen dump Trevor called home. He reached between Norton’s sweat-damp thighs and wrapped his fingers around the tightly-drawn testicles, his right hand effectively trapping the swollen head as his thumb rubbed and pressed relentlessly on the sensitive piss-hole. Norton grunted, hips jabbing at Michael’s thigh and lips sucking hard at his clavicle, the warm oily discharge steadily shooting against his right inner palm slowly let off and dribbled unto his leather shoes, Michael stood where he had and forced his equally harsh breathing to even out. 

“You want me to return the favor, Michael?” Norton groggily whispered against his shoulder, disturbing the damp fabric of his shirt collar, he looked up into Michael’s eyes boldly. 

“No!” Michael stepped back but still kept his arms up for Norton’s support, he cursed himself for now having a memory of the hottest premature ejaculation to be seen by a normal man, he nervously chuckled, “I’m good, but thanks for asking.” 

“I like your honesty, it’s something this place is lacking,” Norton’s voice returned to it’s regular asshole-quality, he straightened up his clothes first before tucking himself back in and zipping up, “Well?” 

“I don’t have anything nice to say right now, Davey,” Michael said, he peeled back his damp shirt and peeked beneath his undershirt to spot a hickey the size of his fist stamped in the middle of his right pec, he knew he would have one hell of a time explaining This one to Trevor if he found the kid in time to face the suspicious amount of time they had spent apart. 

Norton decided he could hold the other favor until cryptically reminding Michael of ‘until Next time’ and giving him a slap on the ass that he again grit his teeth to and tolerated quietly, he was never given an answer as to indicate where Trevor had been for the seemingly endless months that passed afterwards. Until one day during his shift further down the flattened path his crew was still building into a road, he noticed patches of grass breaking through snow and realized it was mid-spring, realization flashed through him as he remembered being incarcerated mid-autumn and saw the grass growing from below melted snow, meaning that Trevor and himself had been already serving at least a year and less than four months, Michael was both happy and distraught for still not having seen his younger colleague for what felt like forever and a half. By the time he was back in his cell after the twelve-hour workday and meager lunch, he passed out cold on the mattress and opened his eyes at lights-out to hear the cell unlock and a lanky figure being pushed into the cell. He knew purely by smell that Trevor had come back into his life to make their life the familiar gun-and-run hell it used to before they were collaborative prisoners serving the same sentence in the same cell, he refrained from asking questions or welcoming Trevor back to the cell as all cellies usually do, either by a verbal acknowledgement of the presence or a physical show of camaraderie or a quick drug-free date-rape to set the night on fire. He watched Trevor slowly trudge to the sink and brush his teeth, then wordlessly hop on the bed, his quiet snores filling the cell before his own joined in the chorus line backup strippers, tap-dancing hoola girls, chicken-fried-polka and all. 

They both woke an hour earlier than usual before roll-call and breakfast at mess hall, and started off their conversation with Trevor first asking, “You do realize we spent ten months in isolation, Mikey?” 

“Did I forget to mark the calendar again, kid?” Michael propped himself into sitting position as he changed his socks and pulled on his work boots to protect himself from the leg-cramping cold floor (he should know, he fell one morning near the toilet while Trevor snort-laughed and woke the entire block, most of them were still pissed), he walked to the tiny stainless steel commode missing it’s lid and seat, he spoke while emptying himself into the waterless pipe, “What other ‘prison fun-facts’ were you told while the aliens abducted you?” 

“That we are in the middle of month number fourteen of our full-term sixty,” Trevor lay out on his back, his breath visible in the air before it disappeared the way water evaporates in hot climate, he sounded not at all surprised at the revelation, more like he was providing commentary on a golf game. 

Michael shook himself of the lingering droplets and flushed the toilet, he tucked himself in and began washing his face, beneath the shatterproof yellow tube light on both sides of the steel mirror, Michael soaped his face and rinsed, he mumbled into their rough towel as he dried himself, “Good, ‘cause your girlfriend - I mean ‘surrogate mother’ is starting to freak me out.” 

“Why? Did she ask about me? Did she worry about me? Did she pick out her wedding dress? The catering? The ring?” Trevor slowly rose up into sitting position until he ended up staring Michael in the face and shouting loud enough to again rouse the entire block, “Fucking tell me, Mikey, I’m dying for details here!” 

“No, flying bullshit on a hearse, No! What the fuck happened in that time you disappeared? Did you get roped into some crazy fucking experiment and get your ass fried for not complying, That is your Own fault!” Michael shouted but quickly fell to angry sharp whispers in which their neighbors could easily be heard saying ‘What’d he say!’, he felt Trevor beginning to wear Both of their welcomes and have them transported to another quadrant of the system within the same building, “I’m just saying she acts a Little worried.” 

“Now who the fuck sounds more hysterical and went crazy without moi?” Trevor asked, he calmed down enough to point both his thumbs at himself and proclaim, “Oh, I’m touched, sugar-tits. Thanks. Did you scratch yours balls and think about me, too?” 

“Be lucky I don’t have Your sexual disorders and think up twisted fantasies of fucking my associate in the ring-of-fire,” Michael said, turning away and using his comb to liven up his hair with yesterday’s grease, he added a bit of water before making the hair on his forehead climb and smoothly glide against the back of his skull, the flick at the end near his nape completed his ‘do. 

“Good, that…Bleh!” Trevor shivered in a retch, he stood at the same commode which forced them to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, neither batted an eye or even hesitated in continuing their differing life-functions, he looked over at Michael beneath his thick eyebrows, “Don’t get into so much detail, I nearly puked up my intestines…eh! Yuck!” 

“It’s nice to be on the same page for once in our two-year-career…” Michael washed his hands and stepped back for Trevor to do the same, he recalled their meeting in the middle of nowhere just an hour from the war zone and they were inseparable, untouchable, invincible, Michael jumped up and threw his fist into the air, “Fourteen months, man! And without incident! We’re on a fucking roll, T!” 

“Seeing you happy makes me nervous, Mikey, like finding a vegetarian vampire living in a hippy commune or some other neurotic shit we’re brainwashed by these days, but you catch my drift?” Trevor said, he was in the slightest happy but unable to move without taking Mother Constantine with him, he figured to get as much time under his belt so as not to be separated from her, he asked before dropping down to the floor and powering through the cold by cranking out pushups like a machine, “Warn me before you turn on the jock-charm because I’m the Wrong recipient, amigo, cool?” 

“Yeah, welcome back, kid,” Michael answered, he hooked his legs through the upper bunk and did his own sets of inverted sit-ups, they spent the hour keeping their bodies formidable and in working condition. 

Their breakfast was a little more fresh, not very filling though: greasy scrambled eggs, salted bacon, over-fried potatoes and bread past it’s expiration date, Trevor noticed the help no longer consisted of the sisters and was instead employed by ‘soft-time’ inmates in the serving line, he searched over every head and body for Mother Constantine but was unable to locate her, he sat down in a huff next to Michael and slid his tray away. One thing about the new rules that Michael had kept away from his younger colleague on purpose was that a gang hit was issued on A Block’s boss from several of disgruntled Aztecas and a girl whom served in the chapel had been raped in that show of power, that they were high above fearing god or some despicable shit and for the fact that the chapel was on A Block boundaries. Trevor finished and arrived at the chapel, the locked door solidifying his fears, he instead went to the post station and was handed two packages, he ran back to his cell and ripped open the cardboard boxes, his sadness replaced by nostalgia. 

One thing Michael knew about Trevor was not to ask him too many questions, he arrived that evening back in their cell to a blaring stereo system cranking out the showiest radio hits polluting the broadcasting frequencies, he stood in the corner and watched Trevor slide on his feet and jangle his arms like an epileptic puppet, “What the fuck’re you listening to, Trevor?” 

“ ‘Static Street’ by Dingo Crocodile,” Trevor answered, he swayed his hips and cupped his crotch to the tune of the punchy drums and aboriginal acoustics, he thrust his hips forward and wiggled back as the beat quickened and chorus erupted, “Shit, Aussies know their yuppie-rock. I can move to Static Street and bring everyone on Death Row with me, we’re gonna play kick-the-can and sit in the electric chairs centered around the Guild Theatre, eh, and watch the public Dunnies for willing fish.” 

“Don’t you ever think people look at you and mourn the conception of the next century when you grow up and take over some poor bastard’s job?” Michael slid into his bed and watched Trevor flex his shoulders and swing his arms without keeping any kind of rhythm, he smiled through his usually-pissy-mood and decided to poke fun at his younger colleague’s artful attempts to keep a beat or even appear like he knew what he was doing, “Why is youth wasted on the young when the old would stay forever young?” 

“Fuck that shit and Fuck them!” Trevor spat through his leg-swinging routine, he looked more like he was either trying to fluidly pop-lock two-step or having seizures, “Who in their right mind ever subjects themselves to the proverbial electric chair where you don’t only die, but your purity gets corrupted by the soul-sucking demons of rolling the dice with vapid public culture and backwards capitalism so-practiced by politicians and the dick-less uppercrusts? Give me a fucking example of neither of the upper fucks doing the world a favor and blowing their balls outta their asses!” 

Michael thought for a second and answered, “Vinny DeSanta.” 

“Racketeer extraordinaire, quadruple homicide,” Trevor recounted the infamous Vinny DeSanta whom still evaded capture to the extent of his not-so-very-current knowledge, he shook his finger at Michael as he fluxed into some cracked-out version of the stiffly-hand-gesturing robot, “Close, pork-chop, no cigar. His money is Vangelico, and his proceedings fund the FIB.” 

Michael knew he was getting close or just glazing over the name, he had to humor Trevor through the next chorus, and thought of a supposedly ‘philanthropic criminal’ and said, “Gus ‘Richie G’ Gustovson.” 

“Big player in White Wings Flight School and South Flounder Fleet, twice captain and awarded the prestigious Skipper insignia,” Trevor knew the man by heart since a share of the military base he trained at was funded by the esteemed Gus Gustovson, he heard whispers of the man behind his back and proved some right because Gus adored Trevor for his flight skills, he added without giving more clarification whether Michael wanted to know or cared to wonder, “If I’ve heard right, the fuck’s a perfect ‘Social Asshole’. Next?” 

For maybe a duration of half the three-minute song kept Michael thinking, he nearly spoke of some bozo named Victor ‘Vic’ Vance, but he settled for, “You?” 

“Ping-O! Right,” Trevor dropped the electric-ADD-teen-on-dope-act and turned down his stereo, once more were the tiers resuming their battle between gangsta rap, mariachi-rancho and country-pop, he leaned over the bed and stared down at Michael, “Does ‘Trevor Phillips Industries’ have a nice ring, Mike?” 

“Heh, the people who listen to ‘Fabric-Mamma’ Morganna, Buchan-Buchan, Horror Undead and the songstress formerly known as ‘Highness’? You’re top billing, boy,” Michael jibed, he locked his legs over the other and spread out on the bottom bunk, he saw the trouble brewing in Trevor’s head and asked, “I don’t have to ask to know you’ve got a plan, huh, kid?” 

“You’re getting good at guessin me, Mike,” Trevor’s unbuttoned denim shirt had long lost their sleeves and hung loosely over his slender body, Michael could only see Norton when Trevor turned around and pulled out a notepad that was full of crumbled pages and ink, “Soon, we’ll be livin the life like a couple of thieves, grabbing the law by the fucking balls and sodomizing them Blind.” 

“Count me out, T,” Michael put his arm over his eyes, he knew that notepad-and-lists-habit that Trevor had and whatever was written in those pages usually meant a crime, “The point of doing time is shaving time off, not adding.” 

“Where’s the fun in sitting around, going crazy scratching your balls every single day for the next five years?” Trevor threw the notepad into his top bunk, he felt like his brain was becoming a bag of mud slowly drying out and cracking inside his skull, he knew he had to do Something productive especially if it were not very legal. 

“Finding peace wherever you can behind bars is bliss, T, something all the Caught criminals aspire to,” Michael said, he liked having a familiar face around but if that face was attached to a cuckoo-wild-card like his colleague, he was ready to pray for a quieter old fart to spend the rest of his sentence coexisting with. 

“But my nuts don’t itch,” Trevor pointed, he agitatedly paced the entire cell from the sink to the barred doorway, he visibly fumed, he punched the Off-button on his stereo and leaned up against the wall corner restlessly staring out at the yellow-gray lighting of the outside, “My gut is ready to jump out my fucking skin at the thought of being stuck here our Entire sentence with You, porky, as my cellmate whom only derives repetitive pleasure from constantly fondling his fucking scrotum. Great! My day is fucked thanks to you!” 

“My pleasure, T,” Michael said, he ignored the glare burning into his chin, “Now grab a bunk and scratch your ‘Trevor-juicer’ like a good little con.” 

Lights-out came in no time, and Michael woke for the midnight shift already arriving at the too-early-hour, he left Trevor asleep and stepped on out with his rubber snow boots. Trevor got up for breakfast alone, and already trouble was starting over who would have him for how long and what position he would take, being that most of the cons who tried to fuck with him were transported to another prison for their injuries, and most of the braver ones this year were either new or doped enough to gladly suffer a broken nose and fractured skull. 

Roll call ended and already his ass had a large hand squeezing a bruise into his cheek, Trevor grabbed the hand in his own, his thumb pressing deeply into the bone in their palm, his fingers curled over the stun-laxed knuckles and threatened to break the bones, he said over his shoulder, “Wanna hold hands, cupcake? C’mon up here, I don’t bite.” 

What no one saw was that the biggest biker of the block affiliated with the Angels of Death was being forced into walking side by side with Trevor, who could give two shits for what other people thought of himself and Michael, he soon sat pretty at the center of mess hall waiting for Casper ‘The Terror’ Jones to join him and begin his education of the who’s-who of QSCF. He learned that there were four major groups: the Italian Mafia, the Soul Pride Brotherhood, the Aztecas, the East-Side Riders. The Italian Mafia was run by some neon-named big-shot who owned Vice City and the major casino avenues all around the US, he lived like a king while his lackeys did the hard work running the gambling rings and whores, and he was currently in protective custody, meaning in the Life Sentence Wing located below the floors of Quincy State’s institutional concrete. Soul Pride had one boss and two sub-factions, Kenneth Dade was the political thinker and philosopher for his soldiers, but they all fought like hell when brought together, but a bad bunch who are from Los Santos’ Families ran a heroin-ring by a voodoo witchdoctor called Boo-Daddy. The Aztecas smuggled and dealt weed for one of their own ‘chiefs’ called Cristobal or ‘the Juarez Diamond’, named for his fields and operations in Juarez, shipments came in through the door by a handful of paid officers. The East-Side Riders were a smaller Midwest branch off of Wei Chang’s Triad, they frequently fought for honor though their existence was mostly out of obligation, they were escape artists and sold their plans to inmates with the ‘one-hundred-percent fuck-up-proofed plans’ already on paper. 

How Trevor figured he could become a part of the economic system of Quincy State was a question of a service which the system lacked, he knew by interrogating Casper that nearly all the inmates followed by cliché and example, they split their matches and lighters eighty-twenty between cooking their black-tar and lighting their smokes, the gambling rings were profitable but lost money through the findings of loaded dice and rigged card games, the whores were getting sick from STDs and no longer looked pretty after their first use, the marijuana was both getting expensive and less potent - sometimes even tasting like burned thyme or oregano, the escape plans were becoming more expensive and harder to obtain the more Quincy State had found secret passage ways and then-invisible loopholes in their prison. All in all, nobody could afford to use one four-dollar lighter to give themselves a temporary fix on their shitty wages, they hated the dealers visibly cheating their money and goods away, they no longer trusted the ‘questionably flat’ weed which already cost an arm and a leg, and they had to wait nearly six months for a single escape plan to be finished and even then they had to kill each other over the single draft. For further simplification: the heroin was mostly toxic, gambling was biased, the sluts were dirty, the marijuana was fake, escaping was a lucky occurrence, and no one had enough money and was stupid enough to buy blatant bullshit. 

Trevor sneered as an idea-nuke blew his mind, he pulled out his pencil and paper, he instructed to Casper’s pseudo-tough-act, “You’re gonna give me the recipe and the schematics, or you’ll need to get used to jacking off south-paw…” 

He spent his mid-morning no longer waiting for a job to pay him, he instead discovered means to build a profitable market that only he knew how, he had every formidable attribute found in great leaders and homicidal nut jobs: he was charismatic, intelligent, articulate, able to handle shit under pressure and quick with his means to discipline his inferiors. There was no money in his pocket, but he was the stepson of a rich motherfucker who bought him useless trash every time his mother got abused, and he was sure that his father had dragged his poor mother to Quebec so they were within driving distance or some unknown possibility he had not anticipated. 

Trevor paused in reading his notepad at the sound of Michael’s dragging boots into their cell, he jumped down and said, “Drop your shit, Mikey, we’re gonna be rich.” 

Michael shuffled right past and plopped himself down on his bunk, he cracked his neck and grumbled, “Since when do inmates ever win the lottery? Are we overstocked on shit paper and need to have a sale?” 

“I’m serious, Mikey!” Trevor readily strode to the stereo sitting neatly atop a cardboard box on the floor, he flipped the pages of his notepad and shoved it into Michael’s face, “Look, materials are cheap to build and the ingredients can be found literally all over the prison, and Casper wants to be our dealer!” 

“Stop it right there, kid, Please!” Michael waved his hands around his head and knocked the notepad away, he was happy that Trevor was ready to put his energy into an idea, but he was tired and admittedly half-psychotic from worrying about the trouble that Trevor was proposing that they get into for meager profit, “I just want to do my time in Peace and get my ass back to Amanda!” 

“I want to stop sitting on my ass, scratching my balls waiting for Mother Constantine to show up and tell me the Spirit-in-the-Sky has a fucking ‘divine plan’ for me to follow, because so far we’re in the same shit-hole doing the Government’s divine will putting money into their pockets and becoming a Fucking Statistic!” Trevor hissed into Michael’s exhausted eyes, he shoved the notepad into his back pocket and explained with a certain uneasy warmth that he had to muster, “I want our time here to fucking matter so we can look back and Know we didn’t pass five-years by accident.” 

“Y’know, kid-” Michael shook his head in defeat, “-I’m out. Finished. Done with your loopy-fucking-double-whammy-disaster-rollercoaster.” 

“You’re nothing without me, sugar-tits, you’d be dead, dying or married to a fatter, hairier, uglier, stupider shit-brain version of yourself - if it wasn’t for me to keep our cocks from being chopped off and sold to Boo-Daddy!” Trevor spat down at Michael. 

“You’re fucking Deranged, Trevor!” Michael quietly stated, he felt the ears all around strain to hear their fight and pick a side in their betting pool, “You make trouble and I’m always there to clean up after you! Who-the-Fuck’s been keeping Your shit together!” 

“Me, me, me! Me! Me! I have! All alone, all along! Solo, cowboy!” Trevor threw up his hands at each insinuation, he bent down and got into Michael’s personal space, “Where’ll you go? Who’ll you trust, eh? Who’d understand you and not beat your ass for making Them clinically depressed?” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be outta here tonight,” Michael answered, he watched his colleague shrink into the angry little boy who was kicked around by his dad, Trevor angrily tossed his drooping hair aside with his fist and kicked at the locked barred door, “I’m sorry, T.” 

Trevor’s shoulders steeled, he looked slim and easy to take down, but deep down he was tougher and smarter than most jack-offs judged him to be, he balled his fists and turned towards Michael, he was ready to beat his mentor down into a bleeding rotten pulp of former-man-matter, but his hands dropped, he stormed out past the officer on duty whom unlocked the door and was ready to escort Michael to another cell. More time passed until Trevor disappeared from the outer world altogether, Michael decided to stop worrying if the kid got himself into trouble, what distressed him the most was the fact that Trevor was taking care of himself better than with Michael as his cellmate, he was secretly grateful but just in the little concerned at how quickly his colleague understood the goings-on ins-and-outs of the prison down to never needing to go to chow hall for anything. Michael got along with his new cellmate Jared D’Angelo who was former Soul Pride and a thug from Vice City, they shared tales of their lives outside of Quincy State with each other, Michael told of his stripper girlfriend and prospect of having children, the Vice City tough spoke fondly of his ‘hood and wife from a rival gang whom he eloped with and fathered many children from his past girlfriends, he talked about having set up a comfortable living in Vice City away from San Andreas and all the infighting that went on like clockwork, and he currently served life for murder. 

Trevor was alone in the same cell he and Michael had started off bunking in, he threw all his junk and belongings unto the bottom bunk, he took only the sponge mattress for himself and put it below his own, making his bedding softer. The first letter he was able to receive came from his mother, she poured sugary-honeyed sentiments and worry on him like he was an empty paper wand dunked headfirst into a cotton candy tumbler collecting spun sugar until he was light, pink and frothy in the head, she spoke of her third marriage to a man named Danny, Trevor mentally spat out the name and continued to read of their home in Quebec, back to his birthplace, back to where he buried Ryan. Most of the news was wonderful and full of joy, until the very bottom of the page quoting ‘With all my love and affection - Your Mother’ was smeared seemingly by tears lifting the blue ink, several tiny flecks of brown blood sprayed finely from the page edge in tiny hair-thin threads almost as if they were stray fibers of unbleached plant material from the paper, Trevor touched his tongue to the thickest rivulet lining the edge of the paper, though deoxidized and smelling of his mother’s perfume the slight tang and metallic sweetness was unmistakably blood. 

“He laid a fucking hand on my Mother!” Trevor hissed quietly to himself, he imagined over and over executing the asshole in the bed used to enslave his mother and using the wedding rings before hand to bore the killing shots into the fuckwad’s head, he neatly folded the letters and put them beneath his mattress, “Just you wait, just you Fucking wait, Danny!”  
_

A few strings pulled, a few favors used up and Trevor had a dozen Angels making product within twenty days of starting, he himself dealt the stuff in tiny packets the size of his thumb nail by the gram at ten dollars a pop or best negotiable offer and easily transported the packets inside a pocket he had stitched into the hem of his shirt, the first day his dope hit home and garnered nearly forty sales in ranges between four dollars and a luxury item or straight ten from payday checks. Trevor went back to his room no longer looking over his shoulder or forgetting to have his fists locked tight at his sides, he strode without a care as the human sea parted for him and various respectful nods or hateful glares passed his way, the scowls went unnoticed, the nods were returned in kind with a handshake and passing of the tiny packets to the other’s grasp, no one needed a push towards their addiction, they were just revisiting their habits still dying-hard. He unloaded the crumbled bills stuffed into his pocket like he was a non-practicing stripper giving a fully-clothed tease on the nudist community, and because he was newly enterprising, his popularity shot through the roof and danced on the pride and joy of others seasoned to the game, he pulled off his new canvas sneakers and fell into the meadow of green flowers smelling of sweat and success, he thought hard about Mother Constantine, whether she was happy or thinking of him as much as he was thinking of her. 

Michael watched his young colleague laying peacefully on the bunk which used to be his, the mattress replaced by wadded up dollars and Trevor simply lying in the center, he shook his head as he slid shut the bars behind himself and climbed into the top bunk, while Jared lay at the bottom already asleep. He pulled off his boots and socks, laying the boots near his feet, he pulled on a dry pair of socks and bundled up in his scratchy wool and polyester blanket for the night, his mind wandered to Amanda, he wondered if she was still doing her ‘job’ spinning around the pole Michael hated so much, if she wore her lady-condom at all times even while he was stuck in Quincy without telling her. He remembered calling but was unable to tell her the whole truth regarding Where he was at doing What with Who because of Why, she would have dove off the forth floor unto him and suffocated him in her newly-stuffed tits, ideal as it sounds Michael had it in his instinct to Lie, Lie, Lie while talking to his girlfriend. It was too bad Trevor never liked her, from the very moment they were in the same room, Trevor hooted and laughed at her as she strutted out unto the stage with green titty-tassels swinging and plastic platform heels making mini-earthquakes on her way to the crotch-sweat-smelling pole, she lost her grip and fell on her ass unable to make a dime until Trevor waved a dollar bill in front of her humiliated face, the kid yelled all too vividly at his seventeen years on the earth, “C’mere, sweetie! Cousin Trevor -knows- Real women have triple chins and no weight restrictions!” 

Amanda was so pissed Michael swore she was going to have a stroke, but all ended well after he signed papers and money over for a pair of new D-cups, next was a butt-lift, he bought her the butt-lift, she wanted a chin-lift after, he bought her the chin-lift, and her latest request for liposuction got Michael and Trevor into the mess they were still currently in. Michael liked her well enough to keep buying her painless ways to have her hacked up and sewed back together, he once remembered Trevor saying as they were ready to pull off a small-time heist, “So, what’d the portly Franken-bimbo want reduced-slash-enhanced this time? Her fucking insufferable vanity located in her tiny head? Quite the five-star-filly you’ve picked from the fair, eh, sugar tits. Why don’t you share body fat and Then you can hate yourselves equally instead of pushing us through this ring-around-the-rosy-sew-the-slut-a-new-nipple-pin-the-tail-on-the-cripple-bullshit?” 

“My lack of a damaged childhood keeps me from having your heartbreaking Freudian complex, T, and lets just keep your opinions to yourself, huh,” Michael breathed in the dark, he heard on the opposite side of the unit the soft whine of post-punk guitars and dizzy lyrics playing quietly enough that no officer stopped it, but loud enough so Michael heard Trevor drawl along lazily, he could almost see the Canadian kid huddle down unto the floor with a mattress and the wool blankets, his long arms cradling the stereo protectively and dozing off melodically. 

Michael never had time to familiarize himself with his surroundings, he worked twelve hours a day - six days a week, he slept, ate and did calisthenics on his days off, mostly sleeping since he liked filling his head with nothingness more than regretting getting caught in the first place and leaving his girlfriend to fend for herself in North Yankton. He sometimes made it to the commissary booth and bought pomade, toothpaste, salt and coffee with his weekly wages, not the bank he was obviously used to making even on bad days, he and Trevor caught themselves shoulder to shoulder eyeing the same piece of candy or a pencil. The first time it happened like so, Michael turned away first and stalked out innocent vices in hand, Trevor caught up with him and tapped him on the shoulder, he handed him a box of nearly-expired chocolates and said smilingly, “Someone’s got to keep your uptight self from losing too much fat, eh, sugar-tits?” 

He hated the title given to him, but he liked the gesture paired with the name, he somehow linked the name to be a term of endearment, and at same time was a little unsettled at the way Trevor handed him something nearly twenty seven dollars in chocolate bars, he figured the kid was making money faster than even he himself was and still respected Michael even after their falling out. Telling by the amount of broken noses littered near Trevor’s floor and arms swinging inside of impromptu slings made of bed sheets, the kid had himself an army of enemies and no respect for those leading their faction besides the rare few whom saw the prison system as the same pile of shit that he hated, if they saw imperfectly eye to eye with him and followed. Michael ripped into the chocolate bar and figured he should visit Norton soon, probably worm out a bit of information without either of them sexually harassing the other. The visit came a month later, after Norton’s vacation, Michael was marched through the building on his day off and left alone in the unsettlingly cheerful cop’s office, if the slight upturn in his lips was any indication of happiness, Michael shifted uneasily on his feet and stared straight at Norton whom was seated atop the desk, arms crossed and varsity swim team body positioned in his direction. 

Michael held his cuffed hands in front of himself at his waist, he asked somewhat too demandingly, “I suppose we can have a normal conversation, Norton?” 

“Dave,” Norton corrected, he stared down the rigid lines of Michael’s body, imagining what he would find if he stripped the inmate naked, “And why would you care?” 

Michael restrained himself from socking the smug smile off of Norton’s face, he again employed the blank expression which was becoming increasingly harder to control and keep still like a flat slate, he grumbled through his tightly clamped jaws, “Because I need answers, straight, no bullshit. You game?” 

Norton’s eyebrow shot a mile high at the sound of ‘game’, Michael was instantly sorry for even mentioning or giving the slightest notion of opening himself up sexually in exchange for answers, a tingle went through his cheek as Norton asked oh-so-provoked and interested, “Was that a challenge, Michael?” 

Michael raised his chin and looked down on the officer, his tongue moved slowly to answer, “Yup.” 

“So-” Norton blinked his pale eyes and licked his pink lips, Michael felt himself unconsciously cringe and his balls shoot straight up into his stomach for the unflinching disgust he felt, “-ask away?” 

Michael let out a breath and calmed himself, he asked, “Short and sweet, what’s the numbers on the groups here?” 

“If I remember correctly, let me think-” Norton’s eyes set beneath his dark brown hair burned into Michael, he answered, “Fifty percent white, twenty percent black, fifteen percent Asian, fifteen percent Mexican.” 

Michael stopped the shiver running down his body before it began, he pinpointed straight back to business and asked, “Who’s got beef with who?” 

Norton hardly thought a moment, he answered instantly, “They’ve all got hard-ons for Trevor.” 

Obviously the kid was a great big friendly bear skipping around in Michael’s mind, he scoffed to himself of the bullshit Trevor had been accumulating against them two at the very beginning of their stint, he waved it all aside and questioned, “Before him, how were things before we came here, Norton?” 

“Dave,” Norton corrected offhandedly, he listed down quickly, “The whites were strong only by their numbers and their influence on others in various groups, they had a truce with the blacks but were unable to provide a truce lasting longer than a week, the Mexicans are trying to unify themselves against the whites but can’t get the other leaders to agree with him, no one fucks with the Asians - the Asians fuck with no one. Simple as that.” 

“I guess we’re done for today. Thanks, Davey,” Michael nodded, he would have happily passed through today’s session in the ‘Quincy Screw Hotel’ if nothing else was further said. 

“Michael,” Norton sneered menacingly, he caught the grimace as Michael turned to face him, he innocently asked but implied explicitly with his eyes raking down Michael’s body and back up to his face, “Are you forgetting My end of the deal?” 

“What do you have in mind this time, Davey? Is the plan to freak me out and Fuck-!” Michael fell on his back, Norton at his side, he planted an arm beneath himself and half-sat up from the floor. 

“That was the plan all along,” Norton’s smile just about broke Michael’s heart as he swung a leg over the thick hips, he pushed the denim shirt aside, his palms smoothing through the skin of Michael’s shoulders giving way to work-chiseled biceps which flinched and jumped beneath his fingers, he attempted to push Michael down unto the carpet but met a wall instead, “Just lay still and let me do all the work.” 

“Hurry the fuck up and nut-off, y’fuckin fruitcake, my back’s killing me,” Michael just about recoiled and hit the floor with his head as Norton placed a kiss on his slightly-stubble chin, he kept his left arm planted behind himself on the floor and grit the woven hairs of the carpet, he again looked down on Norton whom planted nerve-flitting kisses along his jaw, he bucked himself up off the floor to prove his point. 

“Man up, motherfucker, it’s only labor,” Norton whispered through his lips as they traced slowly along Michael’s left ear, Michael nearly jumped out of his skin the moment teeth gently nibbled his fleshy lobe and a tongue sweep through his inner ear before leaving a wet trail for him to clean later. 

Michael felt his cock rising against Norton’s ass, he thought the most boner-destroying things ranging from Brad wetting their bed on purpose to the nuns who used to serve in their mess hall, the memory of his future mother-in-law deflated his cock completely, he took Norton’s chin in hand and roughly brought it up to face him, he nearly passed out at the officer’s disheveled self sporting dewy eyes and flushed face, he growled at the man for lowering his standards tantalizingly, “Yeah? Who tells You to get off your ass and shovel shit for half the day?” 

“Want a backrub, big guy?” Norton mumbled sweetly, he ground himself hard against Michael’s solid stomach, his hands melted from grasping at Michael’s shoulders to sliding down the corded shoulder blades, his fingernails leaving thin welts along his upper back to his nape, he whispered, “You want my hands all over you to make the pain go away?” 

Michael suppressed another shiver as he withstood more kisses on his neck, his head fell back only slightly only to snap upright the more he wondered of Norton’s intentions, either to get him into major shit or to actually get the unwound tension taken away, he watched Norton’s head bob lightly and felt his skin twitch under the gentle lave of a hot tongue on his right pec, he growled, “Take what you want or get off, Davey.” 

Norton came up, his lips reddened and wet, he bucked feebly atop Michael and gasped breathily, “Fuck me, Michael.” 

“Heh,” Michael chuckled, he always thought he was getting the shitty end of the stick until he heard Norton wanting to have a slice of cock instead of backing up the lizard into his unwilling ass, his head rolled back in the purity of careless laughter, “Good luck with that, Norton. The only way my wood’s going anywhere is if there’re boner pills involved.” 

Norton by this time thought he was doing a good job seducing Michael Townley, the confusion passed like the flare in his chest going out the moment everything came to light and cleared away any suspicions he had of Michael, he slumped like dead weight against the barrel-chest and grumbled, “You’re probably not that good of a lay anyhow.”

“I love women, Davey,” Michael said in the tiniest bit sympathetically, he felt Norton’s pale eyes on his upturned face, he crooked his neck downward and further clarified his standing, “I don’t hate you, I just don’t exactly ‘like’ you either. Well, not enough to stay hard for you to downright fuck yourself on me. You’re a good guy gone rotten. I get it.” 

“I hate my fucking wife-” Norton stated, his eyebrow twitched downward in pain as he spoke, “I love her, but she can’t keep her fucking legs crossed, at least not behind my back.” 

Obligated to reassure the officer or even comfort him made the words tumble out of Michael’s mouth, “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault you’re straight. Don’t apologize for something you’re born with, Michael,” Norton fought impulse to press his lips to Michael’s own, to kiss the breath right out of their lungs and never stop for oxygen, he understood by the gesture that Michael was a fool in true love whereas his own was falling apart and crumbling like the works of masterful tragedy. 

“Why would I be sorry for wading neck-deep in pussy?” Michael chuckled, he retraced his steps after being met with a finger punch to his shoulder, “Bad joke, bad joke.” 

“You gotta go, Michael, it’s already lunch time,” Norton stated, he stood from where he knelt and put out his right hand for Michael. 

“If you’re interested, I can find you a part-time boyfriend,” Michael nodded as he took the offered hand and got to his feet, he shook the lint from his pants and shrugged on his half-removed shirt. 

“No, I trust you more than any of those hopped-up assholes around here,” Norton said, he cupped Michael’s chin in his hand as his pale eyes examined the amount of stubble, his fingers whispered over the skin before he gave a pat-slap added to his half-cheated words, “But thanks anyway. I knew you were a straight arrow and I like how you kept it that way.” 

Norton drew away the displaced hairs on Michael’s pouf, he drew a finger along the light stubble along Michael’s jaw and waved him out. For some odd reason, Michael felt he deserved everything that happened and he could not help but to believe himself to be the jackass he knew Norton made him out to be, yet at the same time he understood that they earned each other their respect. With the information he had garnered, Michael knew nearly how the next events leading to Trevor’s indirect reign over the prison under-class was to play out, he had no idea when the gangs would strike, but he knew it was coming steadily the more Trevor sold and gained power purely through indirect persuasion. On the other side of the system was Trevor, scoping out potential dealers and work hands needed for the expansion of his business, he watched vigilantly from behind his lit Redwood cigarette smoke, he sat out in the yard on their mild midsummer afternoon. He lay back after discovering his targets and began benching his ninety-kilos, a few uncounted reps later he sat up scratched beneath his ‘MoonDog BatShit’ concert t-shirt and pulled his denim sleeveless shirt over himself, he decided to take a leg out from beneath the competition as he walked over to a group of giggling men way past their boyhood prime as the mafia’s whores. 

“Say, let’s get to know each other, sweet cheeks,” Trevor leaned against a wall already occupied by a seemingly innocent brunette cutie freezing ass in denim hotpants, he let the charm drip from each word as a potential-buyer usually does before buying a ride, “You’ll pay yourselves the pleasure of knowing this cock-rocket blastin off to be the first dick on the moon.” 

“I really shouldn’t, guy,” came the man’s deep reply, Trevor was still not surprised that he was still the youngest doing time in the system of Quincy, he was not at all put off by the scalp-burning perm or the paint-by-numbers makeup flaking off the slut’s face. 

“One small step never hurt the giant leap for working girls your caliber, honey,” Trevor whispered into the plastic-filled ear, he knew he was the most handsome young buck to ever cross their work-worn path, he was good-looking and knew it at worst, his hip brushed against the other’s as he nodded to the mafia located just a handful of yards away at the metal tables and benches, “Run me down the list of ‘you-know-who’s’.” 

The cute little transvestite bit his lip and looked from the congregation to Trevor’s hazel eyes, he blurted out before falling into a fit of high-pitched giggles, “There’s Roddy, Toddy, Lonny, Sonny, Duffy, Ralphy, Malfy, Sammy, and Tommy, their bitches Dotty and Tammy.” 

Trevor thought that the Italians looked Exactly the same, but was proven wrong once he picked out the runts of the litter: the difference belied their mannerisms and the tiny details in their fashion senses. Those from the city wore gold medallions, the bigger the metal, the higher their rank, he also saw the height in their hair nearly identical to Michael’s chosen style, some even had curly poufs tamed to jut forward and out like an erect cock, he found they had a fondness for loudly-colored outer shirts and plain white undershirts, most obvious of all were the tattoos of their names across their right forearms. The others born from the country or gathered from the lower ranks had the same hairstyle yet went for shape more than height, they wore modest gold chains or imitation-gold jewelry, they had their plain whatever-sleeved denim over shirts paired with a hotrod t-shirt or whatever their fancy. Two scrawny, battered-up boy-toys sat at their feet, one with a long blonde perm, the other sporting a short red bob, they had their state-issued undershirts cropped and tied at the top of their bare navels, tight jeans cut and sewed to make fitted pencil skirts, nails painted red and their white faces done up in charcoal cat-eyes and cherry-red lipstick. A couple of foxy burned-out mammas at best they could squeeze out from men they used to be, until someone either bent them over the bed or slapped on the makeup, Trevor flicked his chin in admonition for their terrible lifestyles. 

Trevor took the man by the arm and marched through, he talked business and flashed a couple of delicious-looking packets of product, he then pranced on his merry way with all three ‘girls’ in tow, once around a corner where they were out of earshot, he said, “So…‘bitches’?” 

“Wanna get cut, dick?” the blonde pulled out his sharpened nail file and hissed, “We ain’t no holes.” 

“Riddle me this, chick-a-dees-” Trevor easily grabbed the fingers and plucked the nail file away, he pointed to the swarming collective sloughing through their time, he asked, “-Do you wear the pants or does your cell-daddy hold ‘em like the commodities?” 

“Still, I don’t like being called ‘bitch’,” the redhead stepped forward, he shrugged in place of getting down on his knees as they usually do. 

“Here’s the deal for you lovely ‘girls’:-” Trevor proposed as he leaned up against the cinderblock wall and looked each ‘girl’ in the eye, he spat out his cigarette and watched the ‘girls’ for a reaction, “Until you prove your worth otherwise in TP Inc, Bitch, you’ll forever be and always will be called ‘Bitch’. Man up and untuck your dicks from between your legs, and I’ll see to it you’ve got a share in my endeavor. Get it, queenies?” 

Each one hated their position as merely ‘holes’ and sperm-cesspools, they wanted something More if not better than their rock-bottom ranks in the food chain, each nodded as the blonde spoke up, “Like a bad case of herpes.” 

“Dynamite!” Trevor high-fived each of them, he strode away and turned back only to say, “Clean your shit up. Y’look like a couple of bowlegged Vice City crack whores. I’m insulted how you can In-fuckin-sinuate my squeaky business tastes.” 

“Another thing, request for a move to the Angels’ wing, they’ve been dying for some girly-girls-on-‘rods,” he said as he made a beeline towards the Angels of Death MC to tell them that his plan is green-light, “Toodles!” 

Trevor bought off the guards to supervise in the three’s move to the singles at A Block, he watched his half-respectable ‘ladies’ shuffle warily thorough the ‘Walk-of-Shame’, he shouted to them as they passed by his cell, “Don’t worry! You’ll do just fuckin Fine!”  
_

Their two-year anniversary approached just ten days shy of being in proper order for celebration, they just had to hold back the fireworks and stripper-cakes, yet the approaching date hardly held a powerful significance since they were Less Than half their five-years through finishing their sentence. Michael worked his ass off and sometimes visited Norton for minor things such as getting his usual hair-trim and shave, they passed through the public with nothing more than a slight nod or fleeting show of obliviousness mostly by accident, but they coexisted as peacefully as Michael had with his cellie D’Angelo. He learned more about Jared D’Angelo, finding that his cellmate was once the second-in-command of San Andreas’ the Ballas gang whereas his wife was a niece of the neighboring Families gang, they met purely by coincidence as she was a passenger to his temporary job as a cabbie, he never dropped her off at her destination and she never left him. Michael was in awe of the young thug love seemingly more pure than his own thief-stripper-couple, but all stories had their twists of fate: the Families’ leader did not care that his niece was missing just that she was seen driving around with the enemy, a hit was put out on Jared and he fought hard with all takers to keep his girlfriend, surviving even a quarter-million-dollar bounty they fled to Vice City for a fresh start, but he was eventually found out even after changing his entire identity, landing him in Quincy State for a murder charge he was accused of. His Soul Pride stint lasted for only twenty-six-months before he was labeled a ‘snitch’, thus leading to their current dilemma. 

Jared was a dark character, athlete-tall and tough as bricks, but he had no hope of getting released, so he lay on his stomach as he handed Michael his personal supplies from below Michael’s bottom bunk, he mumbled into his pillow, “C’mon, man, just do it.” 

“This is some permanent shit you’re asking for, J. Y’know you can’t just wash it off and pretend it ain’t there,” Michael said, he pulled out a caveman set of tools: a partially-used bottle of black ink, a scoop-filed needle melted to a fifteen-centimeter plastic handle formerly belonging to a toothbrush, and a bloodied cloth. 

“I want to remember this shit, Mike, I trust you and I’ve got a hell ova lotta motherfuckin faith in you. Don’t punk-out on me now,” Jared hid his smooth head between his shoulders, he breathed into the suffocating cotton pillow compacted by age and the weight straining upon it. 

“You’ll be catching shit for the rest of your life and after I leave,” Michael warned, he cringed as he watched his cellie pull down his own jeans and expose his ass. 

“For now I can just pretend to be a bitch and play the busta-role,” Jared gripped the bunk’s iron edge, he had the type of looks that hardened men could deal with, he had a body made through fighting and cheap roadwork and he was tired of being chased around whenever he was let out of his cell, there was nothing more prized than claiming a lifer as anybody’s bitch, “You’ll be granting me peace, Mike. Or d’you want me to do the honors and ink Your ass? Parading you around like my little white hoe.” 

“You play a hard bargain, J, almost too good to be true-” Michael joked the only way men joked when met with dire straits, he flicked on his lighter to quickly heat the needle tip and smelled the blood burning off along with ink, he picked out a smooth area just low enough to be a bitch-stamp and high enough that it was a respectable, and considered an artful choice of skin, Jared flexed his ass muscles as Michael took a black permanent marker to the deep-sienna flesh, “Lay the fuck still, we’ve only got one shot no fuck-ups at making my name look good.” 

He steadily made his simple initials of MT into old English characters instead of the cheap feminine romanticism of exaggerated cursive script, he made the skeleton about five-centimeters by seven-centimeters long, he filled in the graceful wisps of calligraphy and emboldened the vertical lines enough so that the letters stood out. The strangeness of groping another man’s upper-ass was less traumatic than getting dry-humped by an officer, so Michael reasoned to himself as he dipped the needle into the ink and cradled the plastic atop his steady knuckles, he stabbed deep and quick as he printed along Jared’s skin, not a sound was uttered from his cellie as the noontime hours waned into the evening. Jared stood painfully from Michael’s bed, he switched their mattresses to their rightful place as he waited for Michael to give him a boost, he stood upon Michael’s knee and up to his shoulder, finally reaching his mattress with his bloody ass and sore lower muscles, he uneasily slept periodically hissing as his nearly-dried scabs pulled apart and bled anew. Michael slept knowing how much he respected a man whom admitted weakness and acknowledged his strength as a con to another whom claimed Michael as a brother, a friend and confidant. If only Trevor hardened up his soft side, they would both survive long enough to either decay peacefully or escape carrying a fire-storm on their shoulders.  
_

Trevor had a much harder time adjusting to the dealing-bachelor’s life, occasionally meeting deadbeats who could not pay off their debt or lied in earnest while in his presence, he made an example of one inmate whom had nearly one-grand of product-debts in unpaid drugs stacked high enough to kill the hardest junkie. 

“You shouldn’t have fuckin snorted all that goddamn pixie dust without first paying the pauper, man,” Trevor paced nude around the shivering addict in throes of fearful-spasms and suspended upside down in the air, he teasingly brushed the metal pipe in disgust along the pale inmate’s hanging arms, he lit a cigarette as he took a drag and poked hard at the hanging chin, he flicked his ashes in the face and shouted downward, “You irritate me! All you too-good-for-paper-fuckers annoy the shit out of me and blow my hard-laboring ass back into the Temperance Era like a bunch of spineless-fuckwads robbing me of my good faith! Take advantage of my rare kindness and you’ll see how pissed instant-Karma can get when cousin Trevor catches you with Your hand in His cookie jar!” 

“But I ain’t angry. I ain’t mad. I ain’t even a teeny bit pissed,” Trevor stepped backwards, his calm voice only making the duct-taped inmate sob even harder and body squirm like a choking snake, he bounced back and cracked the pipe against the suspended inmate’s ribcage, filling the humid boiler room with muffled screams and hisses from the plumbing and loudly clanking generators coughing spurts of energy throughout the vicinity, Trevor took another breath from his cigarette and huffed agitatedly, “I am shit-fire Outraged! Do you know what it’s like to be me! Sane, filled with the wrath of God, morally fucked up and horney all fighting to win first place in this noisy-idea-machine of mine!” 

“So slick are you for diving into my pocket and snipping off my pride and joy in the process. Have you an Inkling to what favorite organ of mine I am referring to, you plague-ridden prick?” he smashed the end of the pipe on the inmate’s navel, creating a blood-spurting bruise, he watched the thick crimson river run down in the piss-grey light blanketing the metal drums and pipes in a thin film of weak color, another drag from his cigarette later and he flicked the spent butt down the rusted iron drain of sturdy round lattice located directly beneath his feet, “Something of mine I’d like to take from you…” 

“-But in another way and we’re square,” Trevor growled as he leaned down to a near-squat, he gripped the shoulders and bit into the right muscle of the inmate’s neck, spitting out the flesh and ripping the thick artery clean away, painted in red-black he stood up and sneered to the Angels surrounding him, “Someone get me a beer, a firecracker and a flag, because I just blew my own fuckin mind.” 

One brought out a bar of soap, Trevor took the offered soap and went to a high-set water drum, he adjusted the heat before standing beneath the hot water spigot and washing himself of the only evidence to surface, he killed only for diplomacy and the fucker he put down was the only way to send a message to the other payment-skipping addicts of the newly-enforced rule true to the world outside of Quincy State: pay to play or die trying. He vomited up the chemical-hardened blood and rinsed his mouth, just realizing he took no pleasure in causing pain, (well Unnecessary pain) but he fully reveled in the moment if he was sufficiently livid to the point of losing control of his temper, but he was Always in control because though things seemed hack and slash - he understood enough Not to murder without conscious but to kill realistically. Thusly, he did not enjoy torturing - much less taking anybody’s life, but the husbands whom left his mother in broken marriages held a special place in his heart, they sealed their fates the moment they laid an unkind hand on his mother and he was more than willing to exact revenge however kind of slaughter-mood he was in. 

“New policy, gentlemen-” he shook himself off, mopping the self-disgust away and replacing it with his clothes, he stated over his shoulder to the two burly Angels at his side, “-I eat nonexempt tweekers. Let those late-bloomers shit their pants and sweat the details.” 

He cut the body down and threw the cotton ties into the resident furnace billowing away through propane flames, he left the Angels to scrub away the jelly-like clots of blood and to get rid of the body while he attended much more pressing matters in his cell, he collected several wads of cash from his regulars on the way and dealt a few grams to his customers, several prominent dealers catching his eye and making death-gestures meant to scare him off their territory. He gave them the finger and continued through his route back to his lonely concrete cell, the walls were as always awash in weak-sepia lighting blinking and humming steadily reminiscent to puke, Trevor nonetheless settled in on the bottom bunk, his surrounding boxes of eight-track cartridges and an extra-large duffle bag laying emptily deflated at the foot, he lit himself a cigarette, the smooth burn calming his edgy nerves and eventually leading to his lost hands to light another. Trevor no longer troubled himself of showing up during mealtimes in mess hall since he bought or made his own food, he sat quietly in the claustrophobia-inducing walls and felt they were more akin to his mother’s arms than a box to rot in like a coffin for when he won the holy lottery, he took comfort knowing he was both confined and safe with himself and his thoughts speeding by in adrenaline-busses. 

“Y’want me to cut off your fucking cocks, is that it!” he growled to the pair formerly-mafia whores whom stepped over his threshold in their bobbing curls and denim hot pants, Trevor knew he was in for one hell of a time slapping some masculinity back into the working ‘girls’ strutting around him like he was King Shit ruling the Pigs’ dung hill, the ‘girls’ clumsily waded out since their packages were split kilometers apart and nearly carrying their own weight in disappointment, “Wash off that makeup, you pair of Bogus-Broads and come back with your dignity intact! All seven-centimeters and both balls attached! I’m in no fuckin mood to give how-to-be-a-real-boy lessons!” 

There seemed to be a hole in a place he could not understand; he spent several hours a week looking for a rotten apple in his plan, a break in his schedule, a pube in his canned soup, a musty patch in his sponge mattress, a moth-made hole in his blanket, a hard patch in his fluffy pillow, a leak in the faucet, a sign in the mirror, a Miniscule crack in the wall where secrets whistled through and made everyone else insufferably annoying - but there was Nothing wrong with his possessions. He wondered if it was him going insane or being driven to the brink by the officers running the place, he was rational and Definitely had his wits about him in perfect order of flowing logic, he knew he was entertaining to the untrained eye but Not at all secretive unless he Wanted to be, his actions and words spelled out everything in screaming ‘Fuck-Off’ language. He might be a ‘character of interest’ yet he was not a ‘suspicious character’ as one in the office might stamp on his files, he knew he was being ‘watched’ but just a known-murder shy of straight out being ‘closely monitored’, little pieces of conversation turning into a long remembrance was evidence enough allowing him to figure why everything felt so out of place: he missed Michael. And his mother. And Amanda. Amanda’s sweaty jiggle-wiggle-dancing and annoyance, mostly. 

Their second anniversary slid away in a haze of pleasant weather and shitty inner workings of the building, nearly everyone was chapped and gummy from their own sweat since the showers were broken, Trevor figured his new policy was in full-effect for most promises were kept in paying him late and paired with unnecessary interest of two-percent-per-day. Everyone wanted a piece of the dope-pie Trevor was always cooking up in the Angels’ wing, he refused ‘sharing’ and leaned more toward ‘trading gram-for-gram’, which seemed to piss off all the cliques since they were both afraid and jealous of him enough that they threatened his business, they sometimes forgot he was barely twenty but despite his age ran a sales ring of special smack. 

A shadow fell over Trevor, he tucked his notepad away and focused on the only major player he constantly competed against for customers, “Well if it ain’t the legendary Mystic Minx.” 

“And my presence be graced by the infamous Trevor Phillips - aka Bugle Boy,” the Soul Pride thug sat down on the opposite side of Trevor, his bleached close-cropped afro punctuating the outline of his grim-set smile, he was intimidating up close but failed to instill fear in the seemingly careless kid sitting before him, “The fresh weed whose barely grown his first pube making all that mothafuckin’ racket in the jones. Truth be told, baby, you just an unorthodox breeze of bad music, pollutin the airwaves of our fine crop.” 

“Psssh! Please!” Trevor blew a raspberry as he took in the interesting choice of words from someone he had never seen before, he leaned towards the dope-dealer sitting flush in silver jewelry and studied the dark eyes watching him like he was just a regular cartoon show throwing around random sound effects and flashy animation, he took the joke out of his words as he said only so that they could hear and no one else in the guard tower would be suspicious, “I can cook better shit from scratch with my eyes closed. And if this dried snake-piss counts as ‘Quality’, you’re out of your own fucking league, Minx. My shit is pure one-hundred-percent powder crystal, you’ve got here a biscuit of burned cake. No-no, Minx. You’re done.” 

Minx confided with his homies surrounding, mostly about dealing and giving up a percent or combining one venture with another, he turned back to his competition and said, “How about I cut you in, Bugle Boy? We can make a lot of dough employing you in the kitchen.” 

“And besmirch my spotless name as an innovative entrepreneur?” Trevor stood up in mock-offence as he dramatically made a ‘you can’t be serious’-expression, he leaned atop the table and looked down on Minx, every damning bit of information bruising Minx’s reputation as a dealer, “I like my dues empty and my back against dudes I can trust; frankly, I can’t trust you at all, Minx. You get how this shit goes in business: Instinct. Pure, unadulterated instinct.” 

“ ‘Quality.’ We keep up enough demand to have you on your ass in a week,” Minx nodded, he flashed his gold tooth like a trophy and glared because Trevor was hardly bluffing or afraid. 

“Whatever, man, my shit is straight up glass whereas you’re flooding my beautiful market with burnt sugar,” Trevor nearly took out a pure gram to brandish and flash around like an identification card, he kept on laying down the facts and ignored the bustle of inmates being taken back to their cells, “Injecting this shit gets motherfuckers put into the infirmary faster than my China-White, and That is saying something about bad workmanship. Don’t bother crunching the numbers, Minx, I’ve got it all logged away.” 

“You’re fucking kidding me, Boy,” Minx tasted his own fear in his voice, his disbelief evident and on display. 

“You’ll find out when my ass gets sent to infirmary, and whoopsie-daisy! My personal records are kept in Plain Sight,” Trevor chuckled, he leaned down into his cupped hand and unwrapped himself a lollypop, he took the candy out of his mouth only to inflate the already-tense situation, “I don’t need to tell you what happens after shit goes topside and the pigs search my cell, because it’s their only chance to stick their nose up my pie-hole anyhow. Right, amigo?” 

“Only a motherfuckin snitch would pull that shit you’re gunnin for, Boy,” Minx got up and stood face to face, the table separating them while he said the simplest things he knew about inmate-officer-transactions which took place secretly, “You some informant ‘n some fuckin deal like that. You’d do me like that, is this how this shit’s goin down, boy!” 

“I’m just a humble peddler of the finer dope and random goods, Minx, I don’t need to say more than I should with the fucking oinkers up stairs already bullshitting me my rights,” Trevor shrugged indifferently to the threat provided, he heard more of his fair share that he was no longer caring to listen or heed the verbal poison spat in his direction, he heard the last call for their cellblock to form a line, “Save your threats for someone a little more paranoid and kind enough to spare their shit than me. I stay, my fuckin business stays and we’re alive so long as there’s demand and I’ve got the supply ready for shipment. You got nada and earn Nada, all you can do is cover your production costs.” 

Once nearing in his cell, Trevor passed through Minx’s cell, the look they shared was a prelude to something bigger than sales, Michael could feel it from his side of the block, he strained himself to hear from across the open deck, and what he heard was enough to make him wish Trevor had a saint’s temper: 

“Get ready for your Going-out-of-business-Sale, Minx. I don’t give a running-Fuck-on-the-dot how you’re planning to fizzle out, eh, then again, it’s a lot cooler watching you drown in your own failure,” Trevor said clearly before passing the occupied bars and having himself locked into the lonely cell several doors down, “Make promises, not war, amigo.” 

The next few days were filled with threats and bullies pushing around Trevor’s newly-reformed ‘muscle’ finally in their own element wearing less-than fitting denim jeans and baggy upper clothing, their face-paint sets were confiscated and the colored palettes broken only to be flushed into a rainbow of glittering shit-water, each had pencil-like steel spikes half the width of a standard graphite pencil and about a graceful thirteen-centimeters long set inside their sleeves or socks. He made the graceful little skewers from hammered grate wire, sharpening the tips on the concrete floorings after wetting the stone samurai style, Trevor felt a bit of pride when every once in a while the letter-opener-like blades come back bloody and a wad of lightly-splattered cash plopped in his hand. Business was no-fuck-arounds-jerk-around-circle-rape business, he lightly soaped the bills with a paintbrush to get out most of the stains and hid them as best he could after rinsing, he offered a share to the Angels creating the crystallite miracles in their cells, but they readily refused since none cared for commissary items or bought favors from other inmates, they simply took what they wanted the same way their boss did to the future. He reached out through the bars and grabbed tomorrow by the throat and looked it in it’s sick puffy yellow bloodshot eyes, inhaled in the sour foot-fetish breath and bit the evasive fucker’s puss-pocket face right off, the future merely became a tweaking dope-head toting a lone infinity-dollar-bill in his back pocket, and Trevor was just there to tear off a tiny piece for each of his daily dues collecting fees of riding the gravy-train down hell’s heavenly hole. 

The beautiful reality was that Trevor knew he had the world in his pocket, he was not afraid to break any rules to make his reality comfortable if not more livable than was possible, he was practical in making and hiding his own weapons: any type of metal was traceable through metal detectors and shapes through flesh wounds, forensics had a field day with metals, plastics, wood, glass and splices of the many others from a creative bunch. In the constant cold and sometimes wet, other times freezing dry would rust metal, crack plastic, erode wood, shatter glass and eventually wear down the other combinations: no types of weapons were safe outside on the yard or inside the concrete cells, everything but bare fists seemed like perfect and easily breakable weapons at the moment. That was until Trevor was struck by a completely beautiful, terrible, and absolutely flawless idea. He spent the next day in wood shop making a slightly blunt-headed stake about five-centimeters-by-four-centimeters in width out of a presumed-chair-leg, he easily smuggled it out passing the block along his always-close network of work hands he either scared them into doing him the favor or giving them a half-gram of product for their efforts. Days had been quieter enough for him to go out into the yard and do a couple of laps around the frozen-hard area, he marked enough of his own territory to have a west-facing bench press of the six, one table of the provided five, and a route of the one-kilometer-by-one-half-kilometers of fenced-off recreational grounds he regularly jogged around, which he diligently ran several laps while taking note of the guards in their watchtowers either jacking off to skanky porn or squeezing off a load to raggedy nudie magazines. 

Trevor took note of the towers set in the center of the northern fence, as were one each embedded into the concrete walls of the east, south and west, presumably sporting spiral stairs of the north tower if not the deserted walkway reaching from east to the south and south to the west; he watched long enough to understand that they were virtually unwatched except for about four minutes of the north and south towers while they were given time to take their government-issued lunches, the west and east towers were to watch until the officers on north and south were in their posts then they would have their turn, ever watchful were the two bundled up officers marching behind the fenced northern tower, both armed with pepper canisters, billy clubs, tear-gas, stun-guns and a rifle loaded with rubber bullets, virtually harmless but enough to down the baddest hardest con. He bet his left nut that there were several sniper rifles in the towers, Trevor did his business on the outside, sliding the packets into the customer’s pockets as he was traded a bill, he tucked away the tightly-folded bills and shoved them into his socks, by chance, he saw his opportunity spying a chess set amidst the parting crowd which just as quickly closed up and gave him all the strategy-recon he needed, the next few steps would have to be done by pure luck and a bit of intimidation. Sack lunches were delivered to him as always, he kept the plastic wrap his sandwich came in and the plastic spoon, the rest were trashed; he rented out the chess set, playing a few horrible games after having his opponent consult the manual for rules, he easily threw the seemingly-innocent wooden piece amongst the pinewood knights, bishops and happily warring royals of the chess set as he checked the set back in and waited for the next day to be as real as he saw the rest of his plan form. 

Twenty four hours predictably had Trevor renting out the chess set during yard time, he pulled out his wooden piece while passing the set off to one of the Angels, he went through his unbroken routine of jogging a few laps until he felt himself warmed up and bladder full from the gallon of cold water he had drank that morning, he then did a few warmup stretches until he knew he was expected by the guards to go the bench press and do a couple of reps. Trevor had two Angels as spotters while a couple of his ‘girls’ circled the outer areas of surrounding cliques to deal a handful of product, he spent a slightly longer time resting after his reps than usual without looking the least bit suspicious, he watched the officers of the north and south towers exit their posts to retrieve their food at the bottom of their spiral stairs, he then nodded his head for the two Angels to stand closer together to blind the western tower, one stood in direct vision of the eastern tower. He scooted forward on the bench press surface and unzipped himself, he pointed his cock down between his legs and let loose the seemingly endless amount of piss he torturously accumulated since that morning, he tucked himself back in and reached down with his right hand to a dumbbell, he did several reps before reaching down low and scooping out the urine-softened dirt before it froze over and thereby missing his chance. Wooden piece in his hand, he bent down and pushed the object into the ground pointed-end first, the guards of the north and south towers observed fleeting but watched the other goings-on after a while, Trevor used his thumb to push further into the slushy ground, the pointed end disappearing nearly to his knuckle. 

About eighteen-centimeters from the tip of the wooden piece to the surface of the yard was reached, Trevor pulled out the piece and switched hands for his reps with the dumbbell, he took the plastic sandwich bag from his shoe and put the piece into the furthest tip, he inserted the plastic and wooden object back into the hole, he smoothed out the plastic and retrieved the wooden piece. He finished up his reps, a tap on his shoulder from an Angel signaled him that the east and west guards were back into their posts, the Angels spotting Trevor rotated with another Angel whom stood behind directly before the north tower’s vision, a lackey came back with a bottle of water in hand and offered it to the Canadian. Trevor took the bottle, he swigged, his eyes raking the tower ahead and waited for the distraction to erupt on the furthest north-east corner. The planned ruckus brought the guards out of their post long enough that Trevor dumped the rest of the water down the plastic-covered hole, he quickly tied the end and kicked dirt over the top, he waited for the miniscule ruckus to calm down as they were taken back to their cells for the rest of the day. He entered the building and pulled off his winter coat while others gave theirs back to the officers, telling by the eager buyer determinedly egging him on for a sale, Trevor knew he was being set up to give a reason for the mafia to start some shit with him, he still sold fourteen-grams right on the mafia’s turf near his block. The lackey disappeared as soon as half a dozen other lackeys showed up, they were smug and angry but mostly arrogant for catching their competition and enemy selling product in plain sight, one had long ugly scars across his face, most of his facial muscles either dead or unable to move more than a twitch. 

“Widow,” Trevor’s mouth did a terrible job holding back a sputtered laugh, he held his sides as they ached and he hooted through his laughter, “You should be renamed ‘Scar Face’. It’ll make more sense, seeing as the alias no longer fits the package. Y’look like Silve’s shit on his bad day.” 

“Don’t push your luck, ducky,” Widow sneered grimly, he lit a hand-rolled cigarette which he offered to Trevor after lighting, “We’re throwin a party for your’s truly. Sky’s the limit with smack, some aged shine and a new grade-A cocksucker. Should be one hell of a snow-shower if you catch my drift.” 

“I caught it, the problem is if you think I’m that fucking reckless to drive off a cliff blitzed out of my fucking mind, drunk as shit while I’ve got a skank servicing my boy,” Trevor took the offered cigarette, he puffed down the tobacco which made his brain tickle and the world feel less uptight than it was a second ago, he inhaled more of the angel-dusted cigarette as he exhaled with a confidence that formed like an invisible shield and broke down all gang-related barriers, “You asked the wrong person of their worst judgment.” 

They parted ways uneasy allies, Trevor half-expected to be punched for insulting the Widow, he was instead let go since a group of his Angels paused to watch over their employer, he got back to his cell and stashed away the bills collected in his socks, he figured of making his time spent better since ‘safe’ seems to be too hopeful in his situation. Seemingly, Widow had bigger beef with Trevor, coming in after the young Canadian and shoving him hard against the wall, he found himself dissatisfied with simple partings as two rivaling dealers, he Had to solidify himself as an object of fear inside Trevor and he had no problem breaking the kid in by an uncomplicated show of domination and complete control. 

“This was business, but making the shit between you and me personal by pissin me off gives you ten seconds to fuck off or I take it upon myself to Pick you off,” dazedly Trevor drawled in the haze of tweeting birds flying around his head, he vaguely felt the tugs of foreign hands on his pants tugging madly on his belt buckle and throwing him to face the wall, “Ten…” 

His pants sliding down to his ankles should have made him worry, yet Trevor dutifully watched the tweeting yellow birds make their rounds as Widow shoved down his own jeans, taking himself out and rubbing furiously in his dry hand, pointing the tip to the thick muscled ass Widow braced himself for his first virgin. Trevor knocked his head back against Widow and caught him unguarded, sending the con flying back against the bed, he rocked on his feet right to left as his hands scratched through his muscled thighs, his short dirty nails leading along his skin to his fingertips, watching the Widow’s cock rise was an added bonus when he had his fingers hooked beneath his worn t-shirt and shucked off everything except his pants and sneakers. He jumped unto his knees atop the Widow, taking note of the long scars running down the hard face, making him look all the more appealing, Trevor knew he had hypnotized and calmed the con down enough to slap his left hand on the mouth, he pulled from his right sock a thin blade half the length of his palm, the tip sporting several carved barbs like those of a fishhook, he struck twice to the Widow’s left thigh in nonfatal blows. Blood spurted over Trevor’s shoulders, his abdomen and right thigh flecked in long stray crimson drops, he tossed the blade towards the sink and breathed in each scream emanating from the wounded Widow, the body in throes of agony bucking up against Trevor. 

“This ain’t over, Boy!” the Widow gnashed from behind Trevor’s hand, the pain warring against disgust in his voice. 

“Three-two-one!” Trevor shouted, he leaned back and swung his right fist straight to the kisser, effectively knocking out the Widow, “Bull’s-eye! Where’s the fuckin siren, I scored!” 

“Wheeee-Whoooo!” seeing as the Widow left a sticky wet patch in his own pants, Trevor pulled himself off the limp body and away from the cramped space between the two bunks, he strode to the sink and soaped off the blood, rinsing himself and his blade before pulling up his jeans, he shouted, “Phillips: One! - Knocked Out Asshole: zip!” 

On cue came the Angels with squares of paper towels and packets of powdered bleach, they wiped away the traces of blood while a pair stuffed the body into a laundry cart and threw a handful sheets atop, Trevor buckled himself and kicked the cart’s wheel before growling, “You’re lucky you don’t owe me anything, spaghetti-dick.” 

Cleanup was only a minute or two as the last of the evidence was flushed down the toilet or washed away in the sink, Trevor dangled an empty cigarette between his lips as he watched nearly every eye on the opposite block staring into his cell, he knew that they knew what was going on, but no one had the balls to say anything not for fear of Trevor (though they were scared shitless of him If they knew him) but for what happens to snitches who get found out. The guards knew nothing of the things going on, all they thought was that Trevor had company and the laundry crew just happened to be in the neighborhood, they instantly wrote out the event as normal occurrence, Trevor leaned on his elbows out through the guardrails lining the walkway, he scratched his bare chest and lit his cigarette, blowing bold rings through the cold grey building, watching the inmates watch him from the safety of their barred cells. The eyes of needy little creatures seemed as if to simply stare, gazing emptily and helplessly as a video camera does, catching and recording what it sees but unable to change the events, hearing what it hears yet incapable of being heard for it’s own voice is only the whirring of turning battery-powered cogs. Apart from those merely soundless witnesses, Trevor had a voice which he found fourteen years ago after setting the shopping mall on fire and crushing down what little ingrained-misogynistic machismo wisdom he had been bred with at the time, his bastard father disappeared before he even got a crack at the fucker. 

Days wore on like a boring book losing it’s pages to be rolled up and smoked, but the words never translating to knowledge as it is ingested and breathed out, making even the most life-changing words shrivel up and disappear in a breath of smoke and ash, Trevor had a full-size notebook lined and college ruled five-subject, he copied the notepads unto the notebook and was proud of his work simply by organizing dates of whom sold what to who in what places, he hid his ‘life-insurance’ in plain sight on the bare metal bottom bunk and finished off his cigarette before flicking the butt down the toilet. He then spent the next several days reading a romantic tragedy which seemed to be based off his own life and his mother’s many journeys to find him a father and to complete their modest Canadian home, possibly even extending the broken family tree through his mother, his own extensions were for sure a competition between a woman’s dwindling time on the ‘biological clock’ and the scarily increasing probability to just adopt Trevor instead of treating him as their boyfriend-fiancée-husband. From outside came hollering, then clanging, then banging, and soon he smelled smoke, but it was just a normal day it seemed, Trevor simply turned his stereo up and propped up his legs as he faced away from the barred doorway and read a book he pinched off of a guard for fifteen-dollars, he felt himself sigh every time the two main characters were in a scene merely sharing sweet words and tender gestures, he resolved to be his own romantic-version if ever he came in contact with a person willing to accept him for who and what he was: a loving Canadian with a feminist-complex. 

“Trevor! Trevor! Hey, dude!” one of the ‘boys’ came stumbling in, his hand slapping a wad of bills on Trevor’s lap whom sat on the toilet naked, reading the hardback and sucking a cherry lollypop, the dealer approached and then remembered, “Captain?” 

“What art thou’s fuckin hurry?” Trevor hissed, he wiped before standing up and slapped the hardcover novel upside his underling’s head where he again pushed a finger into the person’s chest for emphasis, “Where Art Your Fucking Manners, shit-stick! Were thou whelped in a fucking Grotto!” 

“N-what?” the underling readily disagreed but could not help along his minimal understanding of Early-Modern English, or the language spoken in the bible, he regained his then-lost urgency and whispered hurriedly as much as the noise from outside he could audibly get through without giving away a word, “Captain Trevor, we’re in fucking trouble here, man! Them crazy cats from top Tier C Block are declaring you enemy number one!” 

“Do they think I’m some fucking slut they can just jump in bed with and shit on for breakfast!” Trevor shouted, he shuffle-paced from one end of the cell to the other through his limited movement from the faintly-blue Derrière panties hanging off his knees, he growled as if to scare everyone within an earshot-radius, “Me! Me! The gall! The Cheek on ‘em fuckin scrotal-sacs!” 

“The gall, Captain!” the underling agreed, his shoulders unconsciously jumping and settling like a self-containing cocoon. 

Trevor said as he reached down and pulled on a pair of pants, he buckled up, “I should give into their demand and crawl to them on my hands and knees begging for the cock.” 

Without thinking, the underling quickly agreed, “Right! Yes! Of course!” 

“That was a joke, you dick!” Trevor again slammed the book harder against his dealer’s head, throwing his underling off balance and straight into the toilet, he pulled on faded denim shirt over his undershirt and instructed as he stepped out, “Flush while you’re down there, eh.” 

The outside world made Trevor’s heart speed up, his blood pump, his fingers tingle and his tongue fold in half against the roof of his mouth: nearly every cell door stood open, a falling hail of lit comets made haphazardly from tissue rolls and some connected to cell-hooch, the tiers sported inmates yelling obscenities to one another, the floors riddled with burned paper, scorched blankets, blood, piss and shit, the air was thick and hot unlike how it usually was on a calm day which was thin, cold and lethargic. His eyes lit up as he turned round and round searching out someone whom seemed to be ready to turn in a hit on him, he watched faces turn his direction, their fists wrapped in makeshift steel knuckles, Trevor pulled out his barbs from inside his socks and fitted them between each finger, he made clenched the blades between his knuckles and wrapped his hard fist in silver duct tape, he bit off the end and took a glass shard inside his left hand. Everyone looked alike when wearing the same expression, they wanted an excuse, now Trevor had one to agree with their decision to push him down under. The frozen pipes above linked to the sprinklers creaked and groaned, drops created running waterfalls leaking against the walls and dribbling oozing pools of filth to the bottom floor, everything became slippery, the walls, the guardrails and the floor all the more resembled less of concrete and moreover looked like the bottom of a sewer drainage. 

Quincy State was on fire, the tension building since Trevor and Michael arrived exploded in his hurdling punch to an inmate’s gut, he felt the hot blood spurt unto his knuckles and drench his entire hand in the thick liquid, he threw the body aside and felt two punches shoot through his left ribcage. Trevor swayed only to regain his footing, his bones feeling heavy and his muscles tensed like stretched electric wire, his skull cracked against the other in the red haze clouding his vision, he stepped over the body and slashed with his left hand another from groin to chest, he breathed in not caring if he was stained with damning proof and possibly adding another five years plus per talkative witness. On the other side stood Michael and Jared protecting one another from inmates flooding the walkway and destroying whomever was not part of their clique, Michael kept solidly in one place and plowed through the unfriendlies while Jared fired his fist-cannons at those unlucky few whom wanted their revenge on the ‘snitch’-label. Just as Michael cleared the few paces ahead of culturally and ethically-unfair goons, he caught a minute glimpse of Trevor unknowingly dousing thick blankets in water and hanging the sheets up over the few cells on A Block as numerous men in ski masks advanced from behind, he leaned up over the guardrail and hollered Trevor’s name, anything to get the kid’s attention, a few cons turned his direction and hurled motolovs his way, which he ducked. He rose from behind a pile of soaked mattresses and glanced around, his eyes straining through the chaos pounding in his ears and against his better judgment, he swore he had just seen his young colleague just a second ago yet all there was left of Trevor was a bloody madness leading directly from the middle tier to the door of A Block. Wherever Trevor was, Michael hoped the kid was safe.  
_

The ground was grimy, sticky, and smelled burned, acrid like spent welding rods, the cold electric air buzzing and occasionally hissing in the only place he knew to be the basement boiler room, Trevor blinked and only saw vague shapes behind a stifling veil, the shadowed sepia lighting helped just minimally as he opened and closed his eyes enough to understand that the dark shroud would not budge, he figured by the rough scratching around his head to his forehead and the tight pucker at his neck above his adam’s apple that he was blindfolded firmly but with a thin material of sorts. Shadows encircled him, he wriggled his body and felt a tug on his backwards-bound wrists, his legs tied at the ankle in tight knots, he squirmed for a second before motioning to stand, he barely got as far as propping himself up on his elbows before a steel-toe landed hard against his ribcage, Trevor grunted, feeling the weight and speed on his flesh before he fell to the floor. Undaunted, he rose once more only to have a boot heel crash against his temple, the colors flashed momentarily in blinding red hues as he landed on the gummy concrete, his brain thumped dizzyingly inside his skull as if it were inflating and too big for his head, his chest gave off a throbbing sensation which he associated with a bruise forming deep below the skin. A chorus of dark chuckles resounded, the self-satisfied voices bouncing off and disappearing eventually into infinity, he finally sat up on his knees awkwardly and surveyed the shadows around him, counting at least a dozen give or take, he smirked through his blindfold as a hand gripped his neck enough simply so that he wheezed uncomfortably. 

“Be careful who you put your faith into, girls,” he heard the voice of the Widow, the sneer palpable through the half-assed blindfold Trevor wore, “ ‘Cause all Gods fall by the hand of their believers, the same way God punishes His believers for not submitting to His will. Ain’t that right, baby?” 

“A sad truth, Scar-face,” Trevor leaned into the touch, his teeth catching the palm in his grip, he chomped down hard until a pipe to the back of his head loosened his grip, he gulped down the blood staining his teeth and licked his lips as he growled, “Then again, Liberty City yahoos only believe in making money to wipe their boss’s asses with, right?” 

“Someone just Please shut this fucking white-boy up and we’ll take our mothafuckin pound of flesh!” came a cocky voice to Trevor’s peripheral left, he recognized the Minx’s voice from anywhere but was little interested in why he heard a mafioso-lackey’s voice and Soul thug in a single room while their factions were warring for some reason on the topside levels. 

“I am Not fucking White! I’m Canadian, stupid shit-bird! There’s a gaping-Fucking-contrast-!” Trevor roared long enough to have his mouth opened wide and a wad of rolled cloth pushed through the ends knotted tight to the base of his skull, he fought the arms holding his shoulders and hauling him up by his underarms. 

“Oh, my bad, White Boy. What’s the difference? They tan red and you stay fluorescent?” Minx taunted, ripping the thin rock t-shirt away and leaving perfectly-sculpted muscle blemished only by four large bruises and many smaller ones, he shoved the jeans and belt right down the strong legs and stared at the flaccid cock beneath a pair of dusty-blue panties, he leaned towards Trevor’s ear, “Y’scared, baby white boy? You should be - the rumors about a brothers’ dick’s all true, baby. Every - single - inch!” 

Trevor’s teeth gnashed around the rag in his mouth, his teeth aching to rip out Minx’s left jugular vein, he felt two cups slap unto his ears and the back of his gag yanked backwards so that his face was parallel to the ceiling, choking out the sounds of clinking belt buckles, the chuckles, the constant familiar hissing of the water heaters and the groan of pipes pushing along clots of ice, his world suddenly became the bruising hands grasping his knees wide apart, another pair clawing at his underwear and tearing them into stitches. Red rings of burning welts encircled his inner thighs where the elastic bit into his skin, one hand grasped the head of his cock and pulled only the foreskin taut as if to treat him to a homespun-circumcision, he felt the fingers pinch the excess foreskin and twist, Trevor shouted an angry bark held back behind the thick gag making his jaws ache for how wide his mouth was held open. The shapes before his eyes closed in until the weak bulb sputtering randomly behind was effectively blotted out, a pair of rough calloused hands grabbed his hips, another pair squeezing his ass cheeks and parting the round muscles nearly until he felt his sphincter stretch sideways to it’s limit, he shook his head in attempt to dislodge the safety earpiece. A long slippery finger wound it’s way down Trevor’s chest, stopping to pinch a nipple as his world exploded half-devoted to agony and just in the slightest upon the long painful tunnel glinting upon the tiniest sparks of tingles slapping him like a speeding train against a solid wall, his cock twitched through the grotesquely tightened and mercilessly pinched skin of his cock-tip. 

“Maybe it’s the hockey and not knowing what this’s all ‘aboot’,” Widow chuckled into Trevor’s safety earpiece, he caught sounds of skin working repetitively and presumably up and down on wet skin, he heard everywhere within a body’s-length a dozen men jacking off to the picture he painted, Widow hissed hotly into his ear as he then felt the soundproof cup slap back unto his ear, “Daddy likes, Daddy likes Very much.” 

The fingers on his foreskin dug their nails into his already numbed skin, igniting a new kind of shock to roll across his body, he lost count of how many hands groped him, some feeling him by running their hands over his body, others pinching his nipples, one gripping his balls as if to forcefully squeeze out the cum, a pair clamping tightly on his already-strained cock. His body arched back, his spine curving against Widow’s hard chest as his ass pushed at a finger teasingly brushing over the stretched-wide crack of his ass, Trevor instantly pulled away, his ass cheeks attempting to close away and shut itself from the cons crowded around him, he felt a warm sticky glob spurt on his tailbone, his fingers balled up and tightened against each other as if he were wringing the life out of the unlucky fucker who busted a nut on him. The thick digits teasing his asshole raked up the cum and shoved one finger up into him, he constricted instantly, his teeth bared and the gag soaked to the last thread layer, he fought to close his legs and squirm away, but was held in unmoving hands as he bucked up and struggled deliciously against the fingers delving steadily into his ass, alas reaching a studded ring, whomever it was fingering Trevor uncaringly shoved against his sphincter until they were stopped and the digit was yanked out of his ass. Trevor breathed slowly, his lungs filling with the murky air and stale musk-smell hanging in the room like an unwanted ghost, a blunt object positioned itself against his ass, he felt his lower body being lifted and the fingers pinching his foreskin fall away into the shadows. 

Countless teeth bit down on his shoulders, fingernails biting into his skin the moment Minx shoved something resembling a nightstick into his ass, he squeezed hard by reflex, his lower muscles aching as his nerves exploded in a mixture of mind-numbing torrents of snakebite-like stings and the contrasting embrace of venom snapping his body to life, the double-edged effect both filling out his then-partially-flaccid cock and magnifying the sensation crawling up his toes, exploding in his head and making his vision swim. The first merciless thrust knocked the wind out of him, as if the dick reached right into his lungs and stole the breath from him, causing him to sputter aloud enough that he heard himself choke and gasp as he was again brought down upon the endless cock buried inside him. Another cock was pushing up against his ass yet was slapped away telling by how it bounced between his outspread thighs and shriveled up like a wounded hand recoiling from a blade, Trevor could not help the smirk breaking against the gag in his mouth, he groaned wholeheartedly into the saliva-sopped rag wedged inside his jaws, holding his mouth open and his lips stretched as wide as his ass. The telltale stutter in movement foretold an impeding gush of cum filling him, his stomach seemed as if to feel a little more squishy and wet, Trevor was let down unto the ground, his body tensing again while a pair of thumbs and a forefinger hooked into his ass, spreading him open, his sphincter clamped feebly against a cold object being pushed into his body, he knew by the cool breeze licking inside him that a pipe was being fitted into his lower torso. 

Trevor felt hands flip him over unto his stomach, he rose up to his sore knees so as to get a good look at whoever it was instigating the ordeal, a hard shot to his lower back and once to the neck brought him face to face with the dirty floor, his knees kicked wide while a boot ground into his neck and forced him harder into the concrete floor. Someone stood behind him telling by the shuffle-motion of Minx standing and the cigarette smell permeating the air usually done after a good fucking, another knelt behind Trevor, their hands grasping his hips and letting loose a hot liquid, at first Trevor thought that the someone behind him was cumming, but after several seconds of the flow not tapering or being divided into short pulsing spurts, he realized the con kneeling behind him was pissing into his ass. He shook off the lazy heels shoved haphazardly against his spine and shoulder blades, effectively dislodging the shoes planted on his body, he rose up on his knees and squeezed out hard with his stomach muscles, causing the cum-piss mixture to gush out at the con knelt close against him, numerous boots kicked at his side and stomped him into the concrete avoiding his head and neck as they did. Blood oozed over his grinning teeth, a wheezing chuckle breathlessly being stomped out from his airless lungs, Trevor felt the hot pounding of broken blood vessels pushing against his nerves inside his bruised skin and swollen muscles, he stared listlessly into the formless concrete spreading as far as the weak light bulb illuminated. Disgust made the second person leave while another took the former’s place, he winced as the pipe was yanked from his ass, his sphincter gaped and seemed as if to gasp weakly in the empty air surrounding it, a pair of hands pulled his knees wide causing his ankles to fold atop the other in attempt to accommodate the space between his knees. 

A cold glob of liquid dribbled into his ass, a pair of thumbs massaged the inside of his ass and suddenly pulled him apart only a centimeter or so, enough that the luckily-thin cock pierced him comfortably, he had no trouble adjusting or even protesting the somewhat-comfortably-short cock pressing against his cum-slick prostate. Another unnerving shutter vibrated throughout Trevor’s body, making him feel as if his skeleton rearranged itself without disturbing a single anatomical limb, he pushed himself back as the dribbling head rocked over and over the tangled knot of nerves just below his navel inside his body, he squeezed down on the delicious fullness lodged between his ass cheeks, sending tingles straight up his spine and again exploding in barely-seen blots of color bleeding into his wide-open eyes. Before he emptied himself and possibly blacked out from lack of oxygen, Trevor suffered the formless sensation of his cock being tied, the cold disks slapping against his tightly-drawn balls indicated that the cons unhooked his dog tags and slipped them around the base of his cock, one lap around both of his balls and he aimlessly humped the air. His swollen cock searching for any type of friction only to hit the empty space, a chain was wound around his hips, the links nibbling his skin with it’s cold blunt teeth as his knees and feet soon swung above the floor, the ends were then looped around his shoulders in a sling, his body levitated facedown parallel to the floor, another pair of hands assisted by tying his ankles to his wrists. Trevor’s line of vision swam pleasantly while the faceless shadows closed in on him, their filthy boots, dirty sneakers and stained shoes crowded around his suspended form, several hands assisted in spreading his ass open once more, a grainy substance was poured into his gaping ass as the cock once more pushed in ever so slowly, almost teasingly cleaving his ass in half. 

He grew suddenly aware of his ass without warning increasingly becoming sensitive to the point of his nerves lining the tight ring of his sphincter twitching against every vein and fold of foreskin being pulled out, the person unrelentingly slammed their hips against his, making his head bob sluggishly in the air and his throat constrict in gradually-building spasms related to nausea. Strange cocks slipped into the tight crevices made by his folded knees and joints of his armpits, a cold sweat poured from his body, the deliciously mind-numbing thrusts speeding up, then suddenly inching along maddeningly until he squirmed uncomfortably against the chains holding him prone and airborne. Too soon did the fucking come to an uneasy end as he felt the inside of his ass sprayed down thickly in warm wads of cum, another batter stepped up to plate and shoved in selfishly, they fucked and fucked and fucked the powdery cum-paste sloshing around Trevor’s stomach, he soon threw his hips towards a hard surface which he could finally release, but only dislodged the cock from his ass. The horde around him kicked, kneed his stomach and chest, some throwing their knuckles into his shoulder and his thighs presumably because they wanted to punish Trevor for not becoming the docile little hole they were all accustomed to, they poured out their frustrations and left satisfying marks on his body, not caring at all if they were hurting him or counting on him ever walking again. 

Trevor lost count as he was harshly cored-out and beat repeatedly, he felt as if he was fucked upon kilometer-spans of cock varying in size and girth, he came to as the world rushed back in the form of sound, the men around him were so lost in raping him that they forgot to keep his ears plugged. He fought the most-likely illegal dope mixing up his thoughts and running thick through his veins, he judged by the hissing sounds that he nearest furnace was behind him about less than ten-paces, in the midst of grinding their cock against Trevor, he launched himself forward and snapped his knees hard together, crushing the dick between his knees, whomever was behind him cried out and fell backwards straight unto the furnace, emitting an even louder cry, which possibly alerted the officers up on the above-ground level. The crowd disbursed not before either grazing Trevor’s body with blades or giving him a deep stab to major organs, Trevor glanced around with his one uncovered eye and found he was alone, the telltale shut of the doors signaling to him that the last of the inmates were finally a part of the upper population. His wrists rubbed over the other in attempt to loosen the tight knots while his ankles did the same, his ankles popped free first but he dared not to unwind his legs from the chain holding him steadily in the air, understanding fully that if he did, he would dislocate both of his shoulders or cut off circulation from his arms. His tired tongue pushed against the gag now completely sopped and a little more loose than when he was first tied with it, he pushed the cloth out of mouth, he finally loosened the ties on his wrists enough to simply break a single rope and unravel the rest off of his arms, uncovering the deep dark bruises alive with blood and long-dried cuts. 

His legs refused to move and aggravate the already-angry heavily-trafficked injuries his ass sustained, but he knew that if he wanted to exact a long-coming payback he would have to get his legs working no matter how wounded he was, he slipped wearily over the gummy floors to a first aid kit on the furthest corner of the boiler room, he broke open the box and found a bottle of iodine. He set the vial aside and found a packet of powdered bleach taped to the bottom of the box, he ripped the paper packet off and looked for a bottle of any kind, he pulled out a plastic liter bottle and poured most of the iodine into it, he emptied the powder-bleach into the slim neck and hobble-slid towards the hot water spigot. Turning on the water, he put the plastic bottle beneath the warm spray and shook the bottle to dissolve the contents, he then leaned over the still-hanging chains and poured the mixture all over himself, he poured more water into the solution and bent over the chains dangling uselessly in the air, he pushed the bottleneck up his ass and squeezed until the mixture trickled down his legs. Refilling the plastic bottle, he repeated over and over, the water first taking on a milky consistency but finally turning clear with traces of blood, Trevor finally rinsed himself off and slumped to the floor alas taken over by the sweetest darkness he had the pleasure of welcoming all too late to save him.  
_

Light filtered in through a far off window behind a sickly-grey curtain, Trevor thought to himself in his layer of bandages as he pulled himself from dreaming up the repeated scenarios of his revenge, slitting their wrists, pulling out their nerves and using it to weave a tapestry of fresh pain, uncovering their brains and having a handful of worms tunnel their way around the fucked-up minds which conspired against him. He was asked repeatedly who his attackers were, the promises of their capture sugar-coated to appeal to the inferior side which he did not possess, he simply waived their offers and made excuses on his own vengeance’s behalf, turning the other cheek if only for a moment that he was incapacitated and unable to do more than make justifiable little plans. 

Once upon a normal day, Michael strode in looking more tired and worn out than before, Trevor gripped his mentor’s arm in greeting and shrugged to Michael’s concern, “How’s the Canadian hell raiser?” 

“Thankfully virus-free and sadly not pregnant,” Trevor mused as he sat up painfully on his still-sore bottom, he was a little more at ease talking to someone familiar other than the detectives ready to spring on an arrest, “Among my other broken dreams, I’m no longer a virgin.” 

“You’ll live, T,” Michael chuckled, he suddenly turned somber, the mirth skirting away from his tone, “I heard some high-ranked thugs got you here.” 

“Shit, I never knew I was going to get Raped of all fucking things, I always thought I’d get a shitty welcoming parade first,” Trevor again shrugged as if abstinence was a rainbow-farting unicorn blowing through the pastel breeze. 

“You get cut, you get the shit kicked out of you, you get shanked, you get killed, and you get fuckin Raped, T,” Michael said, pulling up a chair to Trevor’s bedside and leaning face to face with his colleague, “This is the world’s glorified urinal, kid, what’d you expect?” 

“I expected to do the goddamned sodomizing here, porky,” Trevor growled knowingly of the prominent assholes flashing through his mind like a video he could not shut off. 

“T, you’re a good kid, a little busted up in the head, but still good,” Michael stated, he watched for signs of disgust on Trevor’s bruised face but only saw a bit of stubble on the kid’s chin, he noticed how much Trevor had grown in terms of height and age, “I love ya, T, don’t get yourself killed over this shit, because you don’t belong here in this place, this fuckin no-fly-zone’ll suck you in, chew you up and shit you out.” 

“That’s funny you should say that, Mike,” Trevor rasped in his angry drawl, he half croaked-shouted as much as his bruised chest would allow from his sore lungs, “ ‘Cause I’m gonna run ‘em down in my fuckin Buzzard and enforce my strict rules pertaining to fucking the boss and never giving him a call. Fuck ‘em if they ever catch me, I Want them to know it was Trevor-motherfuckin-Phillips who went balls-beyond the call of duty. Scream, cry or moan my name they will, they can go Fuck themselves! They can fuck themselves up the fucking intestine! Oh, shit! Now I’m horny all over again!” 

Michael eased Trevor back down unto the rickety medical bed and asked to leave as a doctor came to Trevor’s side, notepad in hand and unmade arrest warrants, he instantly zipped his lips and sat back upon the thin mattress, his throbbing boner still at attention as the middle-aged doctor checked the monitors and turned to the only patient. 

“Urinary Tract Infection, a few minor stabs, contusions and cuts,” the doctor said laying eyes on the full-grown protrusion standing between Trevor’s legs, he slipped on a pair of latex gloves and turned his patient over as slowly as possible so that he would not open up the wounds, he took out a tray of cotton balls and antibiotic ointments, “Have you been practicing safe sex, Trevor? Your anal cavity is completely mangled.” 

“That’s a stupid fucking question,” Trevor leaned up on his elbows and watched the Doctor pull out wads of cotton from inside his ass, the pus alas giving way to slightly-blood-spotted gauze, he tensed slightly as the Doctor methodically spread ointment inside him with a forefinger, he slammed his head into the pillow and growled, “The gag in my mouth was so huge that I couldn’t ask my assailants to do me a solid and jam in with a rubber.” 

“Did your answer imply a ‘no’?” the doctor asked, spreading more ointment further inside the heavily scarred body of his patient, a young man he had no doubt heard of as did every other convict. 

“I was implying an ‘I was fucking raped and Safe was no concern in terms of the rape!’ ” Trevor rasped into his arm, a shiver tumbling through him as his prostate was touched, he looked back over his shoulder and grunted, “Are you slow or something!” 

“Your honesty is appreciated,” the doctor simply withdrew his finger and pulled the blanket up back over Trevor’s lower body, he stood up and pulled the gloves off, he picked up his notepad and asked a question he none had ever answered save for those getting special favors from the guards, “Do you have any names?” 

“Y’might as well measure the hole in my ass and walk around looking for penises that very size, doc, ‘cause I couldn’t see Dick!” Trevor turned over unto his side and barked like a paraplegic dog numb from the waist down, he leaned on one elbow as the other extended as far as he could reach as he chuckled, “It was this long, comprendo!” 

Trevor had no clue how much time had passed before he was released into the population, he half-shuffled through the fenced-off walkway between the blocks wrapping around the vicinity, upon receiving slaps on his ass or any other type of gesture of ownership, Trevor pulled arms from their sockets and twisted touchy-feely fingers with a sickening pop. He looked at the bottom tier of A Block as he passed on by to get to the stairs, behind the bars were burned and bare, a cleanup crew in biohazard hazmat suits were shuffling through the debris, his four labs inside the three cells were gone and so were the Angels telling by their absences from the surrounding bodies watching his labs being torn apart piece by piece. Trevor made his way back to his own cell, seeing that his stuff was untouched and still in order, he hung limply upon the bar of the bottom bunk and scanned the bed for his notebook, none to be found, he turned over all his things and searched the crannies inside the cell, finding nothing at all, he found himself feeling utterly abandoned, every person he loved became nothing more than the paint strokes of a dried-up past he had tried to hold unto and failed in the worst way. 

On a wing reserved for visitations, Michael knew he was being led through another route, but was not disappointed as he was pushed into a room and the door locked behind him, he stepped on the freshly-vacuumed carpet and sat on the provided bed in the room’s center, the spring-mattress squeaked lightly against his weight as he laid a thick folder down beside him, he had forgotten how comfortable a shitty bed could feel after sitting and laying on steel for years. 

“Don’t get up,” Norton entered and said, he strode over to Michael’s side, pulling out a chair and laying his cap on the knock-off nightstand, “I heard about your cellmate, Michael. It’s a shame.” 

“You’re nowhere near sorry, but I appreciate the gusto of going through the motions, Norton,” Michael leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees sluggishly, he shrugged in remembrance for his cellmate whom passed on in the bed next to Trevor’s, “Jared was a good guy, a ‘hood; and still one of the most honest men I’ve known.” 

“All that aside, what’ve you got for me, Mike?” Norton got straight to business the same way Michael would have preferred instead of wallowing on the past set in stone and done with. 

“Let me ask you a question first-” Michael smirked, he sat up and used his cuffed wrists to motion at the flat yellow decor in the room, he disbelievingly found the one-bedroom suite more like something Trevor and himself avoided like the plague for both of them Loved having their own bed, “-Really? This is the best you could do? A ratty roach-infested sleazy-ass thirty-minute fuck-hotel?” 

“It was either this or the chapel,” Norton answered, seeming at ease as he sunk into the chair plastic mod egg-shaped chair, “The last I’ve heard of chapels was people liked to talk about their sins without confessional. We’re the only two suckers to never have had Conjugal Visits. Pity.” 

“Point taken,” Michael nodded listlessly, he pulled from his side the heavy envelope and spoke as if he were speaking to his banker on chances of a serious loan, “Some guys put my colleague into the clinic and I’ve got a bad feeling that if you don’t transfer them for whatever bullshit reason you’ve got, Trevor’s gonna take out his holy wrath and plant it into their asses.” 

Norton’s pale eyes lit up for the opportunity he was sensing and the sure promotion from a glorified prison secretary to something around the big leagues on the outside, he knew from past experience not to take another’s word without having evidence to back up the claim, “I need a form of proof, anything solid to go on, Townley. The state is strained enough and not willing to expend taxpayer’s money for me to hit-and-miss on ‘lucky hunches’ from a convict.” 

“My colleague might be young, but he’s not stupid-” Michael opened the envelope and pulled out Trevor’s notebook which he had swiped the day of the riot, he flipped open the first page and pointed down the neatly-printed letters in the finest pen-script anyone had the guts to boast, he flicked his fingers upon highlighter-strokes which emphasized on a pattern of dealers buying in bulk by the kilogram per frequent visit, “You’ve got names, product, dates, locations, buyers, dealers - the whole shebang written by the dealin god-daddy himself. He’s been keeping tabs since he got it into his head that he could blow into their world and make his life more interesting.” 

“I’m impressed,” Norton commented as he flipped through the detailed logs spanning nearly through to the end, he tucked the notebook back into it’s protective sleeve and held out his hand towards Michael, “It’s been a business doing pleasure with you.” 

“Ditto,” Michael took the offered palm heartily into his own and shook firmly, he yanked Norton forward until they lay facing one another on the bed, Michael on Norton’s right and himself laying on his left arm, Michael spoke quickly underneath his breath, “Don’t you ruin this moment, you cock-teasing smartass. I know this room is bugged and I’m already swimming in shit to get you this information.” 

He watched Norton dip his chin slowly, before scooting himself closer to the officer, he wondered why he was not having his clothes ripped off or his body assaulted, but he saw an emotion in Norton’s eyes which he had not seen in nearly a decade from anyone but maybe fleetingly in Trevor’s blazing hazel lookers, he hardly felt himself strong enough to delve deeper or drive himself to understand, because that particular ‘look’ only meant trouble for a man in his profession, it would weaken him and ultimately make him sympathetic. He finally saw how classically all-american Norton looked with his brown hair neatly combed to the side and swept back, his pale eyes seeming more like sun-warmed windows than the frigid barred squares of fleeting glimpses shown to give the grand illusion of freedom and rightfully-given privileges, Michael found himself staring for far too long but kept right on gazing unclear of why he was even looking in the first place. He noted the plush pink lips inviting him to step right in and have a taste, to stay for a while and play tongue-tag, maybe even trade a few secrets over a spell of pheromones, to assure them both that life did not end in a concrete tomb housing an overcrowded population of nearly five-hundred, he was drawn in and at the same time repelled by outside influence. Remembering the reason why he was forcing himself to do exactly what Norton was trying to take from him their first meeting alone, they just lay silently for a moment to take in each other’s faces as they had rarely had the privacy to do, Norton took his own revere a step forward and traced a finger along Michael’s light stubble. 

An expression of wonder and maybe fleeting nostalgia flashed through Norton’s pale blue iris’, his fingers on Michael were as usual gentle and mysterious as if the officer was trying to remember a forgotten memory, the fingertip drew warm lines across the hard lines of Michael’s face, each deep crease made from anger or worry, each reaction except disgust and boredom seemed to be the only emotions he had ever showed to Norton. Disgust mostly was for himself in the form of his utter failure to protect his colleague (which they had known each other since Trevor was seventeen and pissed enough to burn the entire Canadian Air Force base down to it’s bedrock), the other part was for needing all the help he could get and even going as far as ratting out most of the major players and the addicts, he knew himself to be completely straight until he developed a tiny man-crush for Norton that made him dislike the officer even more, there was a freedom to being a thief, but also the inability to hide from social norms. Michael hated how Norton flaunted himself and how he was unable to even admit his attraction, the fact that Norton was a cop hardly made things awkward, he had seen a thousand cops chasing behind or on the other side of his trigger, yet the truth remained of his secrets and information being entrusted to Norton even if the officer had the power to arrest him only made him develop a small pocket in his heart higher above than all his infamous anonymous sex with hookers or random women, the thin line between overbearing confusion, respect and hinting compulsion was where the trickle of sentiment remained. 

It almost felt wrong, it almost felt strangely satisfying where he was suspicious, cynical, nervous, but not entirely unwelcoming of the eyes searching his, the fingers memorizing his face, their breath blending and being inhaled, the stale air somewhat close to that of the outside world. The fingers gradually swept their way into Michael having a hand brush into his pomaded hair, the stiffly-combed strands giving way to his scalp, he shivered visibly, which Norton appreciated by turning his lips in a smile, the gesture was warm, and tender enough that he was suddenly self-conscious of the watchful gaze, the gentle left palm pulled Michael in. He instantly stiffened to the tips of his mussed hair, Norton patiently waited the nerves to pass if that was what he was simply feeling, Michael took a deep breath and leaned forward, knowing that Norton was probably having the stupidest giggle-party and thinking that Michael was shamefully inadequate or embarrassingly inexperienced being the sort of man passing around normal sex bored hedonists have out of regularity and expectation. The moment easily passed the second one of those maddening sweeps of the warm kisses pressed against Michael’s lips, it was an uncomplicated meeting which he broke off abruptly by rolling up on his back, he crossed his arms over his lower body and stared idly up at the ceiling, unable to take the chance and brush off his frustrating panic. Hands set into fists, he tensed and forced himself to relax, only resulting in his tired huff exiting his lungs, he watched as the fingers withdrew from his face, tracing down his chest and completely abandoning him, leaving the then-touched areas a vivid in-held gasp of lethargic nerves. 

“It’s okay, Michael,” Norton sat up unsteadily, he looked down on Michael whom still lay atop the bed in a rigid self-protecting posture, he reached down just shy of touching Michael’s cheek only to veer a bit to the side and retrieve the folder, he palmed his hair back as he whispered in a combination of surreal rejection, “You’re nothing like me. I don’t hate you for it.” 

Michael unthinkingly shot to his feet and encircled his cuffed hands around Norton’s shoulders, they stood chest-to-back capturing the officer in his cuffed wrists and strong arms, the excess of Norton’s slim body had one of Michael’s fingers loosening the pressed tie, his fingers working the knot free and the other hand guiding Norton’s chin upwards towards him, his lips parted as their mouths pushed together more fully. His tongue slipped from behind his teeth and Norton obliged by sucking him in and wrapping around the slippery tip lightly, their warm-swollen lips slid comfortably in a wet rhythm of roughly melding, sucking gently, puckering as their tongues lapped in dizzying wet tangles of flesh and muscle, Michael brushed one warm hand up and down the officer’s outstretched neck, his fingers passing over the steadily swallowing adam’s apple and dipping along the cords of muscle, his other hand easily snapped off the dark blue police uniform buttons as if he were undoing his own shirt. He only got partway before being unable to tear his hands away from the hypnotizing movement of Norton’s throat and once touching the officer’s naked collarbone, he found himself stuck in the tantalizing dilemma to either cut down the unbolting speed by tearing the shirt in half, but at the same time finding the outside consequences more dire for Norton than if he just neatly undid the dark blue snaps as he originally intended, but he was also dying to touch more skin, to feel every texture and friction of his body against the nude form of the officer. 

An abrupt snap slapping upon the floor brought his ministrations to a halt, but the slight movement just out of his line of vision behind Norton’s forward-turned right shoulder seemed ever more daunting, he expected to have a stun gun pressed to his body or a pepper-spray canister pointed to his face, yet was pleasantly surprised when Norton parted his unbuttoned uniform top, spreading the dark blue material like the wings of a moth breaking it’s cocoon, and shedding the outer skin of his occupation, turning in Michael’s arms without breaking their kiss, his pants slowly being unzipped and his underwear pushed down by Norton’s quick hands. Michael nearly fell backwards unto the bed as Norton surged up into his face, their lips bruising at the simple act, his lips felt a full smile forming on Norton’s cheeks, he would have preferred to honor Norton’s request while uncuffed, but at the moment he knew he just had to make do and refund life’s fucking lemons for a pound of sugar and lube. He pulled down the loosened pants until it lay in a puddle at Norton’s feet, he brushed the naked shoulder blades in his palms, the sweat causing his hands to slide in an awkward span as he tried his damnedest to touch as much as he could reach, the cuffs bit into his wrists the more he fought against his restraints, once reaching Norton’s bare ass, he greedily squeezed the firm swells of muscle in his hands, his fingers trying to stuff as much flesh into his palms all at once. He grabbed up the officer from the floor and flung him unto the mattress until he hung halfway off the bed, leaving the fallen folder where it was on the carpet, Michael teasingly pressed his fingers into the trembling crack only to again squeeze the globes into his hands, Norton moaned quietly into his mouth, his tongue easily quieting their voices and they resumed once more swallowed their tongues into each other’s mouth, his lips smacked wetly as the officer pulled away and gasped his first breath of the room’s stale air now tinged with a musky humidity. 

“You gotta do me a favor, Davey,” Michael whispered fleetingly as he knelt between Norton’s knees, his hands again prying the ass cheeks apart, he looked from the rapidly rising and falling of the sweaty chest leading in a perfect line down to the reddened cock before his eyes, he glanced down curiously and watched the tightly-closed ass flutter outwards and clench back inward, the tiny pink ring again inviting him in, pleading to be pounded open and fucked through, he knew this was his one and only chance, “Are you game?” 

He saw Norton’s head slowly rise, the pleasure-hazed eyelashes set low on dewy blue eyes, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, lips trembling and pink, he knew that this was low even for him to impose such a question during sex, to cruelly force Norton to think despite the torturous arousal making the hips just behind the cock twitching and leaking below his chin. Michael watched the arousal turn into fear then melt into humiliated hesitance, he breathed lightly on the head, which twitched a touch away from his lips, he backed up quickly as Norton thrust into his face, his hands allowed the slightly-bruised ass cheeks fall away, he dragged two of his own fingers from his right hand up to his mouth and drew away with a thick wad of saliva, his elbows flipped atop Norton’s thighs, holding the limbs apart as his fingers traced through Norton’s inner thigh, leaking a saliva-trail straight to the pink core already fluttering in anticipation. His arms easily held down the hips fighting to thrust into his face, Norton grasped down at his own cock as a last-ditch attempt and pleadingly pressed the reddened tip at Michael’s shut mouth, Michael stabbed his two fingers at the tiny ring beneath the tightly-drawn balls, he leaned backwards and gave the ‘give it up’-look. Norton wrapped his legs around Michael’s wall-like back, he easily resisted by licking the cockhead and shrugging off the strength-depleted legs, he used his left fingers to hold open the hole and he only got as far as his fingernail before pulling out, his fingers just brushing round and round without penetrating, finally Norton bit his lip and nodded in defeat. 

Michael closed his mouth upon the offered cock, just sucking the head and tucking his teeth behind the plush cover of his lips, his tongue skimmed over the slit and wrapped on the underside, his fingers pressing on the tiny pink hole flinching delectably beneath his paired fingertips, he watched Norton shiver and fall into the bed’s inviting mattress, upper body sweating and squirming as he sucked hard once. He gazed upon the rising and falling of Norton’s chest, focusing strangely on the pink-tipped pecs heaving and stuttering before he pulled back to lick the precum leaking steadily unto his tongue, there was a taste he automatically associated with salted sardines, maybe for the fact that he had never given head or took a chance to taste his own cum especially from another woman’s lips, but in the moment he felt the cock twitch against his upper lip and tongue, Michael licked his lips and sucked down more of the cock. Comfortably able to both breathe and move his tongue around, Michael found Norton’s cock to be perfectly-sized for his mouth, not so long that he was choking and not too thick that he was struggling to breathe, he discovered how much he appreciated and Enjoyed sucking the smooth length of cock, he tensed his upper throat around the tip as his tongue constricted and pushed the smooth middle up into the roughly-ridged roof of his mouth, his lips ringing a tighter ‘o’ at the base, his nose brushing against Norton’s slightly-matted pubic hairs. Michael experimented with pulling off gently, a wet centimeter at a time appeared only to be forced back into his mouth causing Norton’s body to seize and gradually relax, he wriggled his tongue at the base and lapped around the twitching cock, his tonsils snugly fitted around the leaking cockhead and he moan, realizing himself how sexy Norton looked fighting wholeheartedly against cumming too soon. 

Michael pulled off slightly and his mouth exploded in a play of thick liquid and flavor, he would have laughed if his tongue was not covered and mouth still filling wave after wave of strangely watery cum, he pulled back and dribbled most unto his hand, Norton whispered in the same manner that his body shivered from the ebbing shocks still running through his entirety, “Just fucking Fuck me, Michael! Please!” 

Michael swallowed his fear as he slicked up his cock and glazed the remainder on Norton’s stiff length, the rest of the cum sliding down his throat and absorbed in his body, he searched the place for something sturdy and about waist-height, because so far the bed did not make a sound with how hard he was pressing Norton’s hips and body unto the noisy spring mattress, his eyes fell on a mini-refrigerator set on a corner, he reached to the head of the bed and plucked the thickest pillow and threw the fluffy cushion atop the steadily humming appliance. He put his cuffed arms between Norton’s outspread thighs, and hiked up his arms to encircle Norton’s parted legs and around until he had the officer leaning against him, Michael carried the exhausted body easily to the refrigerator, sitting him atop, Norton’s knees propped over his elbows and their lower bodies pressed together for only a second before Michael pulled back and aligned himself. He nudged at first to get Norton’s attention, his cock slid right up and pressed the dangling sac, Norton took hold of his cock, pressed the tip against himself and he threw his hips downward, Michael shuddered against the officer’s equally trembling body, his spine bowed back slightly in wonder as he looked down at his upwards-riding undershirt, he discovered a fresh glob of white dripping on his abdomen. He found Norton’s sheepish face behind the slightly mussed hair hanging down his forehead, Michael peppered kisses on the officer’s open lips, the quiet moans huffing in breaths against his face, he dipped his tongue back into the mouth, his hips finally stuttering to life, the sensations shooting outwards from his cock shook them both into vertigo-like spasms, the inevitability of climax drawing ever near. 

Whimpers and moans were swallowed where they were uttered, scattered and lost in their lapping tongues, their lips sealed together, Michael thrust in fully, the tight wetness sucking him and wrapping his cock so completely in layers of flesh and body heat, he again lost himself in the body laying beneath him, he pulled his hips back, extracting his cock partially before bucking forward. Norton gasped around his tongue, the lax hands grabbing at his waist and finally taking a hold of his belt buckle, though he took the officer for a weakling he was surprised the moment his lower body was rocked hard, colliding wholly with Norton’s thighs, Michael ground himself upward, his cock brushing roughly against Norton’s prostate and again, he felt the officer tense suddenly, the hole accommodating him going into quivering and constricting against his cock, he kept his lower body working in fever the more the sensations drew on and threatened to drive him completely crazy with lust. Nothing mattered, his sentence seemed as if to have been years behind, he nearly forgot the life he used to have and the life he led currently, words became the sloppy tongue-movement in his mouth and his lips forming a language all people understood, the struggles melted away as did every emotion he had ever endured except the constant wish to just Finish. He refused to allow himself to rush back to the world and feel the disappointment of being alive, he wanted to be empty of thought for as long as possible, to have all the disappointments in his life fucked-out of his mind, he focused as the room spun faster, the movement of his form becoming a trail leading nothingness upon nothingness. 

Michael grasped Norton to his chest, trying to ingrain himself into the moment yet unable to forget who he was, what he had done, the wrongs he had committed, the friend who had died in his arms, the girlfriend he had left behind, and the colleague he had failed to protect; he attempted to lose himself in the pleasure he derived from the depths of his mortal enemy’s body, to turn himself loose and find himself anywhere but hopelessly gathered in love’s arms and coddled tenderly. His hips snapped forward, throwing Norton’s prone body up unto the wall’s corner, the shadows wrapping them both yet it’s weak ability to muffle their sounds brought Michael back to the present, he left bruises in the shape of his fingertip on Norton’s lower spine, his cuffs finally breaking skin and leaving long trails of steadily-dripping blood on the pillow, most seeping unto the officer’s back and trickling between his cheeks. He leaned forward until he was nearly laying atop Norton, their tongues twining languidly, lips melding and breaking only to again enclose one another, Michael reached down, his palms grasping the split-open ass and pulling the cheeks apart as he bucked inwards, throwing his weight and vexation into each thrust, he approached his end the more he fought to control himself. Norton seized up one last time and clamped down on Michael, his pace stuttered to a stop as his skin shattered from within, his release clawing outwards through the deepest tempest, his back bowed and body taking as much as Norton offered, his cock erupted and let loose nearly three years of unexpressed sensation.  
_

Trevor licked his lips, he padded through the grimy puddles on the floor as he chewed, he swallowed and turned on the water spigot from the boiler, he washed away all the filth which came with hours of fun and relaxation, he rubbed his body clean and dressed in his usual clothing of sneakers, jeans and his new undershirt. He smelled the decay hanging in the humid air, the sight he made beckoned for him to take another look and he glanced back: ten bodies lay on the floor, each in various stages of torture, their bones broken, their skin torn, their blood running into the drain, each beautifully and deliciously alive, their limbs tied and mouths gagged just as Trevor had been. He put on a pair of yellow rubber cleaning gloves used by the janitors, he pulled out two plastic bottles of rubbing alcohol and punched the plastic caps with his metal pick, he set the items aside and pulled out his ice box, striding to the wriggling mass of men whimpering and pleading for him to have mercy. Trevor skipped to their side and leaned down beside one inmate, it was a mafia lackey shaking their head at him as he opened the ice chest, stroking the guy gently as if to assure him no more harm was coming, he made a lightning-quick stab to the guy’s chest, right between the ribs and into the heart, he withdrew his hand from the nearly-bloodless body and went on to the next victim. 

The icebox made a musical clinking as he moved about, Trevor bent down and repeated to the next eight victims, on the ninth he pulled out the icicle he had painstakingly froze outside in the hole made beneath his bench press and stored in his cell, he stabbed the icicle into the inmate and moved on to Widow, he pulled up his hand emptily from the icebox to the mafia underling’s smug relief, Trevor growled excitedly, “Ooh, you’ve just lucked-out, spaghetti-dick. But don’t you worry, Cousin Trevor’s got something Extra special for you! Just so you don’t feel left out and all!” 

He pulled out a suspiciously familiar pipe, he then savagely shoved one end into the Widow’s mouth after taking the gag off, he took his cigarette and lit the chinese noise-makers, he winked and dropped the firecrackers down the Widow’s throat, the firecrackers took off like a fit of violent hiccups, the sounds muffled when Trevor closed up the pipe with the gag, he squeezed the rubbing alcohol over the bodies, the icicles melted and fingerprints turning into puddles of bloody water set inside the wounds, he flicked the Redwood butt to the bloody flesh-pile, shucking the gloves into a burning furnace and exited the boiler room. 

He went straight to the head office with two officers escorting him, his hands cuffed and mouth lit with a fresh cigarette, he was led to a barred space, his clothes were searched as he was led further in when he checked clear, he walked up next to Michael whom was in the process of giving an autograph to the warden, his mentor asked, “Where the hell’ve you been, T? You’re late.” 

“Saying goodbye to old friends,” Trevor answered indifferently, he signed out for his possessions and another form for his release, he pulled on his jacket over his undershirt as soon as the officer gave him his plastic bag, they also forwarded him his big duffle bag full of his possessions that he had collected during his stay at Quincy State, “They’ll miss me.” 

They exited through the front gate that they had never once seen, which was surprisingly clean and boring, Trevor slid on the icy sidewalk behind Michael through the first two barbwire fences and lastly through the hulking rolling iron gate, the two escorts alas left them behind the wall as the gate closed at their backs. Trevor looked through the fence at the inmates enjoying yard-time, he put his palm to his mouth and blew them a kiss, the inmates scattered as if he had aimed a rocket-launcher in their direction and gave them a warning before blasting. The snow fell gracefully in clumped flakes, the air seemed lighter and crisp than breathing in the second-hand air circulating in the walls behind them, they both inhaled their first breaths of oxygen chilled by the weather and sweetened by the absence of cuffs or warrants. 

Trevor piped up after sneezing out a frozen booger, “So, what’re we gonna do?” 

Michael strode to the highway he built leading west, he stuck out his thumb and answered, “We’re gonna go see a friend of ours’, T.” 

“You made ‘Friends’ in this shit-heap?” Trevor asked after he glanced disbelievingly from the prison back to his mentor. 

“Hey, I didn’t piss off the Midwestern and West-coast mobs during my stint,” Michael said, catching sight of a car steadily plowing through the snow. 

“You mean my associates?” Trevor shrugged, shouldering his bag and tossing out his thumb with an exaggerated hip-thrust. 

“Nevermind, T. Listen-” Michael glanced at his colleague whom only stared at him with bright hazel eyes, he continued explaining about a promise he made to Jared, “My celly wants us to go find his wife Shannon Thomas, she lives near Vice City.” 

“Sign me up to ski That coke mountain, eh! I’m in!” Trevor shouted, pumping his fist into the air as the car stopped before them and offered them a ride.  
_

They passed through North Yankton and stopped long enough for Michael to have pissy make-up sex with Amanda for losing the money And leaving her for most of her stripper-career And resulting her to gain more unwanted weight in her boobs, Trevor only remarked, “It’s called gravity, baby! Be lucky nothing else ain’t sagging!” 

Vice City was a dead end as Michael attempted to follow Jared’s dying wish and cashing in on the quarter-million-dollar hit and giving the cash to his estranged widow Shannon D’Angelo whom had long skipped town and moved somewhere in the next state, changing her name in the process back to her maiden name. Michael drove along the road, the desert scenery giving way to oceans and climbing mountainous terrain, he readjusted his gold aviator sunglasses and kept to a steady seventy kilometers-per-hour since they had long lost the cops from Vice City behind climbing spires of pine and cedar forests. He looked to Trevor whom had a right leg hanging out of the rolled-down window and naked upper body leaning atop the inclined seat, long fingers occasionally puffing a Redwood and flicking the ashes into the wind, dog tags dangling and jangling in the misty ocean breeze, he pulled into a restaurant just off the interstate. The neon sign blinked ‘Route 66 Diner’ just above a sign announcing ‘Bikers Welcome’, Michael pulled on his tan cordovan jacket and went in and took a seat at the bar, he observed the old fashioned soda fountains and retro décor while a gum-encrusted jukebox played Johnny Thunderbird’s ‘Rock ‘n Roll Soul’ in the happy drum-and-guitar beat, he pulled out his roadmap and slapped the worn paper atop the counter, Trevor strode in with his faded denim jacket over a cropped baggy shirt and jeans tucked into black military boots, he planted himself on a swiveling barstool next to Michael. 

“I told you we’re lost, tubby-tony, but do you ever listen to Me?” Trevor inquired offhandedly, pulling off his beige round-rimmed sunglasses and using it to push back his hair. 

“I’ll say as I’ve said since North Yankton, since we’ve gotten to Vice City: we’re Not fucking Lost,” Michael answered, scanning over and over the atlas that they had picked up from Michael’s hovel back in North Yankton, he saw Trevor open his mouth about allowing him to drive, which Michael quickly said, “No, you’re not taking the wheel again either, you’re riding bitch for as long as we’re in the same vehicle.” 

“In my defense, cowboy, it’s how they drive in Europe. Okay? So, it’s not Technically called ‘bad driving’,” Trevor growled, pulling up a plastic menu and searching for something appetizing. 

Michael paused and looked up from the atlas to his colleague, he spat out his words, “Who? Who’re you referring to as ‘they’?” 

“The Euro-fuckin-peans! Stay on topic, would ya!” Trevor barked, Michael then recalled the Russian syndicate from Liberty City whom put a hit on their heads during their brief, yet exciting stay in Vice City, all because Trevor had to drunkenly piss on the wrong shoes during their sobering walk through a crowded casino. 

“You, my luminous genius, make me fear for the future,” Michael stated flatly, he then motioned for the young grease-monkey-looking restaurateur whom came back from serving the small crowd of bikers near the back door, “I’ll have a cheeseburger, fries, a chocolate milkshake and some advice on where the fuck we are in sasquatch-land.” 

“There’s your problem, man. This map is from nearly four years ago,” the guy leaned over the tabletop and checked the cover, he pulled out his pencil from his ear and marked along a route he knew, “Here’s where you are, now just take this road all the way through, some of the roads are new and off the map, others are dirt and developmental lands. And you should be in Los Santos in two days give or take.” 

“Thanks, buddy,” Michael said, he leaned towards Trevor whom was checking out the denim-and-leather-clad ass of the restaurateur, “Want anything, T?” 

“I’ll have a steak super-rare and ready to walk off my plate, a whole tin of all-american apple pie to-go -” Trevor growled in his throat, he pulled out a cigarette as the restaurateur leaned towards him with a lighter, he pulled back after puffing his Redwood to life and smiled, “-and a Neapolitan ice cream pop in black cherry.” 

“You’re fucking nuts, Trevor,” Michael shook his head disapprovingly at his colleague’s antics. 

“With a capital ‘N’, amigo,” Trevor grinned as his ice cream soda was slid down the glossy tabletop and into his awaiting hands, he sipped lazily at his drink. 

They went along the coastal roads southward, passing along stretches of lifeless forestlands and hitting a gas station once every blue moon, Michael turned off over a wooden bridge and drove north through more woodlands upon bumpy dirt roads, Michael said to Trevor as the sun bled the last of it’s light between the two mountains they traveled, “Check it out, Trevor, we’ve hit civilization.” 

“Hardly, we jumped out of one redneck shithole into another, y’see the sickness in these people?” Trevor grumbled as he pulled off his sunglasses and sat up, the strange road evolved from the wild snarls of climbing trees to a bare land featuring gap-toothed people drinking beer, smoking out of light bulbs and having outdoor sex, “It’s like watching a bunch of cave-dwelling homo habilis hillbillies finally discovering the beauty of the condom and magic of farmhouse sodomy. Honk if you’re Horney, dude!” 

The oncoming driver of a sixteen-wheeler blared their horns as prompted, Trevor fell back into the yellow all-terrain 1985 Karin Bobcat, his legs kicking out at the dashboard as he gripped his sides laughing, Michael joined in and saw a sign on passing ‘Welcome to Sandy Shores’ and just below was another sign ‘Lakeside Resorts and Vacationland’, and below That sign was another reading ‘Coming Soon!’, Trevor pulled out his camera and snapped a picture of the hand painted billboard, he chuckled, “Hah! They’ll never finish digging a hole big enough to fill with their bullshit ‘lake’. It’ll just become a landfill in the next five years.” 

Michael finally slowed down enough to see spotlights trained on a vast stretch of evacuated land as bulldozers dug up tons of dirt and trash, he shrugged thinking that the lake would in fact become nothing more than a failed project, they turned off on a two-lane highway leading south to their destination, bare mountain lands became dotted at first with single clapboard homes, finally in clusters came glass and metal spires which blinded anyone looking as the sun rose. Michael turned off again at a building called the ‘Love Shack Motel’, he turned the atlas over and over again, one page flip too much had Trevor groaning, “Are we lost again or What, rumbly-tummy!” 

“This can’t be right! This can’t be fucking right!” Michael mumbled under his breath to Trevor’s annoyance, he lifted his sunglasses and proclaimed, “We’re here! This is the spot! This is Los Santos!” 

“I must be hearing things, I don’t know, maybe the cancer-sticks’ve finally caught up to me-” Trevor leaned over the door and looked out at the city which had its own hovering smog cloud, he chuckled and glanced back to Michael, “-I thought you said ‘this is it’.” 

“No, I’m telling you an Irish drinking-poem, T,” Michael gently worded as quickly as he hit the roof at Trevor’s nonchalance, “Of course, this is it! We’re here in the american cock-pool for the comically-impared!” 

“We did it!” Trevor shouted into Michael’s reddened face, he shrugged and flipped the silent cassette tape to the B-side, “Yay, you blathering asshole, yay.” 

They spent most of the morning driving in circles and getting wrong directions from all ethnicities until finally arriving in an area without a skyscraper or lacking in liquor stores, the buildings were squat and small, broken down vehicles parked all around the place and the only color being the bright graffiti plastered and overlapping each other on walls or any flat surface, they were greeted with glares and shouts of ‘You on the wrong side, cracka.’ Trevor glanced around at the locale like a tourist, he pulled up his camera and noisily snapped pictures with his huge Polaris camera, the pictures spitting out treasured images of the Mexican and black gang bangers throwing up their signs or flipping Trevor the finger, he excitedly bounced around his seat and chuckled to Michael, “They just called you ‘cracker’.” 

Michael stopped the pickup near a house on a bullet-riddled street sign announcing ‘Strawberry Street’, he surveyed the area for life, Friendly life which was preferably not wearing their baggy pants half-way down their boxers or leering their way or ending each sentence with ‘bitch’ (since Trevor might go off on a lecture about the respect for Feminine Mystique and the very likelihood of pulling down their baggy pants out of sheer curiosity), because Michael could not for the life of him understand a single word except ‘bitch’, ‘fucking’, or ‘motherfucker’ since they either spoke fast or in a beat like old school rap. Trevor just had to pick out the friendliest and most unknowing of their criteria as he squatted next to a boy whom was playing on the front lawn with a teddy and a kung-fu toy soldier. 

“Hey, little buddy,” Trevor smiled sweetly at the child whom looked up at him with big brown eyes, “What’s your name?” 

“Fwank,” the boy warbled shyly, he stood up and sat on Trevor’s knee. 

“Nice to meet you, Frank,” Trevor said as he took the tiny right hand in his own and gave a gentle shake, he checked the address and found that they were where they were supposed to be, he asked gently, “Is your mommy home?” 

“Naw,” Frank shook his head and straightened up his teddy bear’s green bow, he answered in his innocent little voice, “She with Big Smoke.” 

“You know when she’ll be back?” Michael walked up to the pair and was given a headshake from Frank, he asked in the same tone Trevor used, “How old are you, Frank?” 

Frank counted with his free right hand, his fingers wriggling and alas holding up a number to Michael whom then asked, “Three?” 

“What up, bro? Where the party at, man?” came a cocky voice offside of the three, they all looked to a boy a at least twice Frank’s age dressed to the nines in gangsta wear with a leashed rottweiler puppy at his side, as young as the boy was he had a swagger and reckless tone in his cadenced speech, “Who the fuck’re you two foo’s, foo’?” 

“We’re Frank’s new pals. Where’s his mother?” Michael answered as he looked down at the cocky kid staring up at him. 

“Shan? She left last month with that dickhead-Balla Big Smoke, yo,” the boy answered, he wiped his nose and said in the same say-so tone of his, “She puffin’ on that pipe like it’s her job!” 

“His mamma flew the coop. Isn’t that a cryin shame, Mike?” Trevor asked, he stood up and had Frank in his arms, “C’mon, let’s show this little dude the time of his life.” 

Frank was wrapped around Trevor’s neck and unwilling to let go as they got to the dirty yellow Bobcat, Michael knew that lunch was the first thing he was going to get before resuming the search for Shannon Clinton, a high-pitched yapping caught their attention. 

“Hey! Hey, man! Wait up!” the boy ran up to the truck with his puppy in tow, he asked sheepishly, “Can I hang wit’you?” 

Michael and Trevor only shrugged allowing the kid to ride along, he piped up, “Oh, they call me LD.” 

Trevor shook the hand covered in puppy-slobber and said, “Glad to have ya, LD.” 

Michael first drove up to the Maze Bank and deposited into Shannon Clinton’s name, he made an account offside and deposited a small percent through several ghost-accounts which would eventually lead to David Norton, their current favor coming to a close as Michael’s end of the deal was honored. With Los Santos spread out below them like a two-dollar hooker, they drove right in like they owned the joint and paid seasick dead presidents for each mile put on the speedometer. The four hit up every arcade and blew the thousands of drug-money Trevor earned in prison, they sampled every flavor of ice cream, candy and rode the carnival rides, they took a round-trip journey around Los Santos to Vice City and back. 

On the way through Los Santos’ city limits, Trevor cradled Frank on his lap and turned to Michael, his hazel eyes dewy and voice soft so as not to wake Frank, “Please, Mikey, can we keep ‘em?” 

“How’re you gonna raise a kid, Trevor?” Michael asked as the older boy shifted against Trevor’s shoulder and settled back down in sleep, “Really, are you willin to give him a stripper for a momma?” 

“I’ve been meaning to ask, sugar-tits-” Trevor raised a brow and deadpanned, “-how’s That working out for you?” 

“Bite me,” Michael said, he flinched as Trevor lifted his hand and bit his forearm, “I don’t mean literally, you pompous ass-brain!” 

“Shut the fuck up, sugar-tits!” Trevor scolded in his best whisper at Michael, “Is this how you want our children to talk when they grow up! Watch your filthy fucking mouth!” 

“You’re a piece of work, y’know that?” Michael veered slowly back unto the deserted road lane, he had to admit that all four of them did have a lot of fun, yet he was worried of the fact that the boys would become their exact copies in illegal profession, “No, T. I like ‘em both, too. But we can’t keep ‘em, it’s bad enough that we’re crooks.” 

“Professional thieves,” Trevor corrected and cooed loving like a mother when Frank had hugged his finger. 

“Same difference,” Michael stated, he adored having the kids around because it was as if they were his own and he treated them that way for the entire week they had the boys. 

“I’m gonna miss ‘em, Mike,” Trevor looked out the window sadly and watched as Los Santos gradually approached, and all too soon would they both be alone again, he sniffled and hugged the boys to himself, “I’m gonna have a million children just like Silve Hearstly.” 

Michael drove silently the rest of the way back to Strawberry Street and put the muddy Bobcat into park, he slid off his gold watch as Trevor pulled off his silver chain bracelet, they each put the items into a boy’s pocket and took the sleeping bodies to the lit house, Trevor hugged Frank one last time and whispered, “It’s gonna be real lonely without ya, little guy. Uncle Trevor’s gonna miss you, kiddo.” 

They gave the boys over to Frank's grandmother whom thanked the men for bringing her little boys home, the pair were expecting something more of pedophile-accusations flung their way but were pleasantly surprised, they parted ways and ended up on the beach with a gallon of whiskey, the setting sun blazing all over the sea and golden sand, Michael leaned on the hood of the truck and toasted his polystyrene cup at Trevor whom sat atop the hood and blinked away tears, “Here’s to lookin out for you, kid.” 

Trevor hiccupped, his shaky fingers accepting the toast and raising his own cup, he smirked sadly as the last washes of red drowned itself in the endless western sea, “And there’s to witnessing your boxy behind sag, y’old geezer.”  
_

His fingers fiddled over and over the softly-worn chains of the thick silver bracelet on his right wrist, the piece of jewelry had seen bloody fights, countless ghetto battles, thousands of top-dollar auto races, and out of the priceless diamonds and precious stones set into his ears, the long stretches of gold and silver chains draped around his neck, he still treasured the bracelet more than all the cars in his garage, more than his new home in Vinewood Hills. His phone rung inside his pocket, he smiled as he heard a familiar voice asking him out to dinner, he agreed and pulled on his red cotton jacket, he grabbed up his keys and dashed out the door, he brought the full-grown rottweiler along and sped out through the streets. The sun was hanging low over Vespucci Beach as he parked between the shadowed blue Asea and the red Bodhi pickup truck where two familiar faces greeted him, his legs dug into the sand as he leaned against the lowered truck bed and took a glass of offered whiskey. 

Their glasses raised to the sky, he asked the two men before they took the first sip, “I love y’all. You know that, right?” 

Trevor put down his glass and answered genuinely confused, “Of course, kid.” 

“Yeah, why’d you ask?” Michael followed cue and looked to their protégé. 

“It was just somethin’ I needed to get off my chest,” Franklin shrugged as he wrapped his arm around each man and watched the sun leave a glittering trail of stars upon the sea from Trevor and Michael’s vantage. 

Heartbreakingly amiable and disarmingly beautiful, Franklin realized not at all regretting not knowing his father or losing his mother to heroin, of course he was sad and always remembered the feeling of being abandoned all too well, but if he was never lost - he would never have been found by two men who made him better than the two-bit gangster he used to be and both whom he loved more than all the money in the world. 

Legally stolen or illegally earned.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos to you if you understood the references!
> 
> this is for TPimSA, 'cause, well - she's allowed me to expand on an idea...Thank you~! *snuggle*
> 
> Some of the GTA timeline is wonky, so i put my shitty math skills to use and got something Close to accurate on dates & pop culture at the time. Dave+Michael makes sense to me.


End file.
